Six and a Half
by deargebleidd
Summary: Richard Castle was six and a half years old when he met his future wife for the first time. But it's not until he meets her again, some thirty years later, that he begins to understand what it means to be the husband of a time traveler. Based on The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffeneger, for the 2016 Summer Ficathon. Cover art by @dtrekker.
1. Chapter 1

Part One: Storm, Castle, Heat

The river always finds the sea

So helplessly

Like you find me

We are paper boats floating on a stream

And it would seem

We'll never be apart

-Red, Paper Boats (by Darren Korb), Transistor

* * *

Chapter One

Thursday, July 13, 2006 (Kate is 26, Rick is 35)

You will not cry in public, Kate, she told herself sternly. This is not the end. You haven't failed. She weaved blindly between the people on the sidewalk. She bumped into a few of them, brushed shoulders and arms, but most ignored her. She ignored the few that turned back with "Hey!" or "Watch it!" and even one who must have noticed the watery quality of her eyes and asked, "Are you okay?" She kept her head bent, arms holding her purse protectively across her chest. You haven't failed her.

She let the throng of people on their way home from work guide her into the subway entrance, let them push her through the turnstile where she swiped her card with the accuracy of habit. Then she swiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

Nobody in the crowded station paid any attention.

Pull yourself together. It's not the end of the world. Her thoughts were already spinning out of control, spiraling into a mess reminiscent of her state of mind while trying to put aside her mother's murder. So what if I got fired? Screw them all, I don't need the NYPD. The traitorous part of her mind, which hadn't been entirely silenced in therapy, added, More time to work the case. No regulations, nobody to report to. What else are you going to do with all your new-found free time?

Montgomery would be so ashamed.

He'd fought tooth and nail for her to keep her job. He told 1PP she was the best he'd ever trained, probably the best he'd ever seen, told them that given time she could be the best homicide detective in the city. He'd put his own name and reputation on the line for her, and it hadn't been enough for those idiot IA detectives.

Royce, too, had stood up for her. He told IA that it wasn't her fault she missed so much work, that she had a medical condition, but her performance during periods of remission more than made up for the absences. IA had said her missing hours, days, and weeks interfered with her performance. And then they'd fired her.

The more logical, less emotional side of herself was halfway resigned to the fact that they were right. A suspect had escaped because of her condition. A suspect had escaped and taken her service piece and badge along with him, and both officers and civilians had been put in danger. So yes, maybe there was some reason to it. Even if no one but the suspect had ended up hurt, because he tried to escape and knocked himself out in traffic.

The more emotional, still logical side of her mourned the loss of the job that had been her life for the past five years, the job that had been her best chance at solving her mother's murder.

Kate was pulled out of her spiral by the screeching of subway breaks. The crowd had carried her onto the platform, and she now stood shoulder to shoulder with her fellow New Yorkers. She blinked back the memories of the afternoon's meetings and raised her head. She quickly read the number on the train car and, seeing it was the correct line, searched for a way forward.

Desperate to get home where she could fall apart in private, she forced her way onto the train, once again taking no notice of the people around her. She didn't notice the people still exiting the subway car, didn't notice the man among them who glimpsed her face and did a double take. Didn't see his attempts to swim upstream through the flow of people leaving the train, or how he jumped up and down and waved his arm above his head to get her attention. Didn't hear his shouted, "Kate! Hey, Kate! Please..." before the doors slid closed behind her.

The train squealed again and lurched forward, carrying her and the other passengers packed around her into the dark tunnel. She didn't make it all the way home.

* * *

Saturday, May 20, 2006 (Kate is 26[from July 2006])

Disoriented, naked, and hungry, Kate tried to stand up. Her knees shook but the walls and floor of the dim hallway were covered in grime so she closed her eyes, counted to ten, and gained her balance. Damn subway. There was so much noise and motion on the underground she could never feel it coming.

She peered around in the darkness, relived to find she was alone. With a glance behind her she discovered it was actually daylight, but the hallway was darkened by the amount of smoke and dirt on the window at the end. A crooked number 33 was nailed to the nearest doorway, which was peeling bright green paint.

"Oh no," she whispered. This was the building where Victor Daniels lived.

"Daniels open up!" She heard a booming voice demand from around the corner. It was Detective Gutierrez, her former lead detective, banging his fist on number 38 in the adjacent corridor. Kate drew further into a shadow on the wall.

Not only had she come back to Daniels' apartment, she'd come back to his arrest. The case that had gotten her fired. But what if I was here the whole time? What if I didn't get fired?

Luckily, she'd been over this case and this arrest so many times in the past month for IA she knew all the details. For example most of the police officers went with Gutierrez to search Daniels' apartment on the third floor, and a few went up to the fourth floor where his cousin lived. Only she and Esposito had stayed on the second floor, where his friend's boyfriend was reported to live. Those three apartments were judged the most likely places Daniels would be found.

If she could find herself before she Traveled, she could fill in for herself. She'd done it before. She only had to get past Gutierrez and his officers and Esposito. She could take her own clothes, secure her gun and badge—this would work. Screw the consequences.

Kate listened as Gutierrez paused to wait for movement in apartment 38. He announced again, "This is the NYPD, open the door!"

Kate knew he would kick in the door—she'd been able to hear it all the way from the floor below—and waited for the opportunity to slip past while the dust settled and the arrest team swarmed into the sublet.

When the crash and splinter of wood sounded, she dashed for the stair door, hoping she'd have enough time to catch herself. Knowing these moments could make or break her career, she took the steps as fast as she could in her bare feet. An echoing of footsteps up the stairwell forced her to stop, though, and she hid behind the railing on the landing between floors, peering through the space between the half-wall and the railing to see if the person was coming up further.

She sighed with relief as a man in a dark hoodie pushed open the door to the second floor, and began creeping her way down the stairs again, hoping he wouldn't return. Slowly she pushed on the bar so that it opened silently. The hallway was empty, except for a pile of clothes. Her clothes. Damn it.

She ran to the crumpled mess and her heart clenched as she saw that it had already been rifled through; her gun and badge were gone.

She pulled on the pants and then the shirt, and kicked the underwear and shoes into a corner. The window at the end of the hall was open and the metal of the fire escape glinted in the sun beyond it. Kate covered the distance quickly and descended to the street in record time.

A familiar blue hoodie was rounding the corner ahead of her, shoulders hunched and hood up. Damn it, I had him.

She tailed him as discreetly as she could despite her still bare feet, and was gaining ground when the suspect turned and saw her. At first, it seemed as though he would ignore a random shoeless woman on the sidewalk, but something must have given her away—maybe he recognized the clothes—and he spooked.

She chased after him, surprise now lost to her, and yelled, "Daniels, stop! Police!"

Daniels was like a rabbit, or gazelle. He darted forward, making random sideways jumps between obstacles that blocked the sidewalk. He reached an intersection and for a split second froze, deciding in that time which direction he was going to go. He chose wrong.

He didn't see the two pedestrians to his right and collided with them, sending all three crashing into a fruit vendor's cart. The cart rolled onto its side into the street, tossing the three people into the car lane. The speeding taxi didn't have time to stop.

Kate remembered the reports of the injuries. Daniels had sprained his wrist and fractured a knee—no. He'd broken the wrist and the knee, and gotten a concussion. And the two pedestrians...road burn, broken legs and ribs and...

Kate felt it start this time, with no rumbling of the subway to cover up the tiny vibrations that zipped up her spine, or the dizziness in her head that preceded Travel. Knowing officers would soon cover the area and that there was nothing she could do to help with the accident, she turned and looked for somewhere to hide. Across the street was an alley with a dumpster. She sprinted, fighting the growing nausea, and climbed in to wait it out. At least, just like her clothes, she could not take the dirt and stench of the trash with her.

* * *

Wednesday, June 14, 2006 (Kate is 26, and 26 [from July 2006])

Kate sank into her couch with a box of crackers. Travel always made her hungry, but it still wasn't enough to motivate her to stock her kitchen. Good thing, too, because her digital clock told her she'd been gone for three weeks. She'd only been in 1985 for about seven hours, but time travel was finicky that way.

Kate sighed. She knew she had to call her dad—she always did when she got back from Traveling. But three weeks was an unusually long time for her to be gone, and she knew he was still getting used to it again. She just really hoped he had turned to his sponsor and not the bottle. She wasn't sure she could handle it if he went back to drinking because of her. Still, there was nothing she could do about the Travel, and her job was just as much a part of her life, even if both caused him to worry.

She pulled the phone from its cradle on the wall and dialed, taking the headset with her back to the couch where she folded herself into the corner.

It rang eight times before he picked up, so when he answered with "Hello?" she had a mouthful of cracker to speak around.

"Hey, Dad."

"Katie, thank god."

"I'm back."

"Where were you? Why were you gone so long?"

"I was in 1985."

There was a long pause in the already awkward conversation.

"Did you," her father started. He took a breath and timidly asked, "Did you see her?"

Kate wanted to cry. She hadn't even thought of that. She'd been there for seven hours, and— "No."

Another pause.

"I'm glad you're home, Kate."

"Thanks, Dad. I'm sorry I was gone so long, I was only there for a few hours—"

"No, don't apologize. You can't help it, I know."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm actually—I have to go. I have a meeting."

"That's...that's great, Dad. Good. Okay, I'll see you. Maybe now I'm back, we can get lunch this weekend?"

"I'd like that, Katie."

They hung up, and Kate curled further into her couch, fighting the knot in her throat and the tears in her eyes. She'd tried before, of course, to find her mother. But she never did manage to get it right. And this time she hadn't even tried looking.

She fell asleep on the couch, as exhaustion and the feeling of loss all over again overwhelmed her.

xXx

The next morning she awoke to someone pounding on her door at seven o'clock.

Still wearing the sweats she'd pulled on last night when she got home, she approached the front door while reaching for her side table with her spare gun. She checked it was there, and then looked through the peep hole. It was Esposito.

Wiping at her no doubt red-rimmed eyes, she pulled the chain and flipped the deadbolt.

"Esposito, hey, what are you doing here? I'm on sick leave right now—"

"Cut the crap, Beckett." Straight to the point then. Great.

"Come in, then," she gestured him in through the door, and bolted it behind him. "What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"Three weeks, Beckett!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just really haven't been feeling well, and Montgomery—"

"You've been gone for three freaking weeks, Kate! Where the hell were you? Don't," he interrupted her protest, "say you were here. I stopped by during week two. You weren't here. You didn't answer any calls. Do you know how I know you're still alive? Your dad called me last night, because I asked him to let me know when you would be available. Lanie has been worried sick, because you haven't been returning her calls either. You guys were supposed to have a dinner date last week? You didn't even call to cancel."

When he paused for breath, she jumped on her chance to argue her case. "Esposito, I'm sorry, but I couldn't. I really was sick, I was in the hospital—"

"No. You weren't. I checked." He folded his arms across his chest, and she had no doubt that he had looked into every hospital record in the city.

She looked away from him, mumbled out, "I don't use my full name, I check in under my middle—"

"No. You didn't. I checked that too." His tone suggested that she ought to start telling the truth or he was going to drag her down to the station and put her into interrogation.

"Esposito, please..." She was running out of excuses.

He uncrossed his arms and stepped toward her. "I thought we were friends, Beckett." She cringed. "I know I haven't been at the Twelfth that long, but I thought we were friends. Colleagues at the least. But there we were, on an arrest, supposed to have each other's backs, and you disappeared. You disappeared for three weeks, and we found a suspect with your gun and your badge. What happened, Kate? How on Earth could some mysterious medical condition—that you won't talk about—cause you to leave in the middle of an arrest, letting a suspect get your gun, leaving your partner without backup?"

"He what?" she whispered, shocked. "Daniels... he got my gun? My badge? Where are they now, did you get them back? Did he... did he hurt anybody with them? What happened at the arrest?"

Esposito glared at her. "Oh, now you want answers. Well, how about we start with this: What the hell 'medical condition' do you have, Beckett?"

"Chrono-impairment," came the answer, but Kate hadn't moved her mouth. The response came from the naked woman raising herself off the floor in the entryway where she had just appeared. Esposito's eyes widened at the woman who looked exactly like Beckett and appeared out of thin air. "It's called chrono-impairment, Javi, and yes, it is a real condition, and I'm sorry for leaving you without a partner in the Daniels case and I'm sorry I didn't call, and—" Naked Kate Beckett in the doorway stopped trying to explain because fully dressed Kate Beckett had just caught Detective Javier Esposito as he passed out.

* * *

Friday, June 26, 2009 (Kate is 29, Rick is 38)

When Esposito recounted the story of how he found out about Beckett's disease to Ryan, Lanie, and Castle in the dimly lit bar, his version differed slightly from hers.

"And then he fainted," Kate finished for him.

"I did not. Faint." He glanced at Lanie and then at Ryan. They were holding back laughter, as was Castle. "You didn't see what I saw, I mean she just, and then, but—ah, you never believe me anyway. What did you do, Castle?"

"I was six," Castle said. "And I already believed in everything. She was awesome."

Ryan volunteered, "I still haven't seen it, just heard stories. And experienced Beckett missing for weeks and weeks and weeks—"

"Okay, okay."

Lanie spoke up next, when Esposito turned his eyes to her. "Well, I knew from before it started happening again. She told me around the time we started meeting at crime scenes. So I didn't actually witness... until one time she showed up at my doorstep. But I think she was from pretty far in the future, like maybe fifty or so, because she was—"

"Lanie, you've tried to tell me this before, and I've told you, I don't want to know. Knowing is dangerous. It makes bad things worse and makes my life miserable."

"Alright I won't tell them. Let's hear about the past, then. When and where was the first time you Traveled?"

* * *

A/N—Thanks for reading!

twitter: deargebleidd

tumblr: deargebleidd

I'm still setting both of these up, so there's not much there at the moment. But feedback is greatly appreciated!

No, really, even if it's more than 10 years after the original post date I'd still love to hear from you.

A quick poll—If you leave a review, do you want and/or expect a reply from the writer?

Warnings for the complete story: If you've read/seen The Time Traveler's Wife, you know the story covers a lifetime. So this story may involve all the things that come with life, including heartbreak, marriage, children, and death. Also, some life things have happened so while this story will be updating, it will be updating slowly. Apologies.

Disclaimer, to be applied to this and all future chapters of this story—I do not own or profit from Castle, The Time Traveler's Wife, 8 1/2, Nine, or Transistor (or any other existing work mentioned in this story). Just borrowing words and characters for a while.

Cover art by dtrekker (Thank you!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

 _Monday, March 9, 2009 (Rick is 37)_

"Murder. Mystery. The Macabre."

Rick heard Gina speaking on the stage, but he wasn't really listening. In fact, he tried to avoid listening to her whenever possible. Then he scolded himself for that thought - that was the kind of thought that was supposed to be part of his public image, not his internal monologue.

Maybe he could make an exception for his ex-wife, though.

Despite the introduction he was getting at the other end of the rooftop party, the fans surrounding him were more interested in getting something signed. And since Gina's team hadn't started handing out books yet, that something was turning out to be a lot of body parts and cocktail napkins.

These were the fans that he appreciated merely on a monetary level. They supported him because he was famous, because he was the hot gossip news on page six of _The Ledger_ , and not because they liked his books. It was like he was a reality TV star, a celebutante, whose hard work and writing talent were secondary to the image.

They were the reason—admittedly, the million dollar reason—that Paula insisted on using the playboy image in the first place. She warned him time and again that as soon as that image waned, so did the book sales. She had proof, too; sales were up when he started building the image after his divorce from Meredith, but had dropped off as soon as he married Gina. Until, that is, the power couple's very loud, very public separation and eventual divorce skyrocketed him back into the eye of the gossip-mongers. Then his sales had reached record highs.

Paula attributed the successes to his public image, but Rick liked to think that his writing was improving, and that the quality of literature had some impact on what was sold.

The other kind of fan he appreciated on a creative level. They were the ones who loved mysteries and thrills. They were there for the love of a good book. They were the ones who challenged him to think, to make the details that much more intricate, the characters that much more human, and the plot that much more complex. He loved reading fan mail from people who read closely, pulled out every bit of subtlety, speculated as they read along. Those were infinitely more interesting than another glittery rendition of "I'm your biggest fan."

Those fans, the ones who were paying attention to Gina and waiting eagerly for their early edition of _Storm Fall_? They were the ones who made him feel like maybe he was doing something worthwhile with his life, after all.

xXx

Rick massaged his thumb, sore from signing, and weaved away from the center of the rooftop. He ducked behind a partition, hoping for a few minutes of privacy to regenerate his charm and signing abilities.

"What kind of _idiot,_ " came an angry voice from behind him, "kills off his best-selling main character?" Just his luck; Gina had followed him.

He turned to face her and said, "Gina, we've been over this. About a million times, if you'll recall—" She scowled up at him and swiped the sunglasses of his eyes. (She glared at him, as though he were the asshole for wearing them, even though she was part of Team Playboy). "Look. Writing Derek used to be fun. Now it's like work."

"And God forbid you should work. Do you know how many readers you're going to alienate with this?"

"He's just a character. They'll get over it. They'll come back because they like _my_ writing."

"Oh, _your_ writing," she mocked. She folded her arms, sunglasses still in hand. "From what I hear, you haven't been writing. Tell me, how much of this fabulous new novel did you finish during the nineteen months you kept this book in publishing hell?"

"It is not my fault that your team didn't like the way I ended _Storm Fall._ The editor could have just signed off on it—"

"We would have been finished three months ago if Paula hadn't—"

"Paula does what I tell her. Sort of." He paused. "You can't blame her for any of this—"

"You're right. It's your fault, for killing off the golden goose! And in the end you got your way anyway. Just like always."

This conversation reminded Rick why they'd divorced in the first place. When they fought, nobody could even finish a sentence.

"Derek Storm is not the golden goose; I am. And if you can't see that—"

"Prove it, Rick. Give me the manuscript that I was promised weeks ago." He could tell from her expression that she knew just as well as he did there was no manuscript.

"I gave you the outline."

"That outline didn't tell me anything besides 'There's a beginning, a middle, and an end.' I need something more, or Black Pawn is going to demand the return of the advance."

"They wouldn't dare." But the truth was they would. He needed to make them understand, make Gina understand, that this new book wasn't just another Richard Castle mystery thriller to go to the dime store. This new book was going to be his greatest work, his contribution to great American literature. It was going to become a classic, a part of standard curriculum, a true examination of life and human nature.

If only he could get the words onto the page.

"Look, Rick. I don't know what's going on with you. You clearly don't want to tell me. But if you keep this up, you're going to find yourself missing a lot more than an advance." She turned and walked away from him with her publicity smile back on her face.

Putting his own natural charm back on auto, Rick rejoined the party and went in search of his mother.

xXx

"You should have me committed," he told Alexis as his mother went hunting a rare grey-haired ring-free male. When did she even see Gina, to have this talk about his lack of writing and fabulous new novel?

"For what? Letting her move in?" His daughter was so grounded. She brought him back into the present and reminded him that there were people in the world who were about more than money and fake smiles and monotonous parties. "I think it's sweet."

"Won't be when I strangle her. What are you studying?"

"English Lit. We're on our theater unit—Shakespeare and Arthur Miller and Sophocles." She glanced back down at her text book. "Honestly? I'm not sure what kinds of connections it's possible to make between Hero and Antigone and Goody Proctor."

Rick took the glass of champagne he was holding for his mother and set it in front of Alexis. She looked at it and then fixed her gaze on him. "C'mon, don't you want to party? You can study in the morning."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Dad, I don't know any of these people. And I'm only fifteen."

"Alexis, life should be an adventure. It doesn't all have to be studying and résumé building. It's why I killed Derek. There were no more surprises. It was all blurring together, like these parties. It was getting to be the same, day after day, and it was bleeding into my life, too. I just kept wishing that something new would happen. So I took control, and killed Derek."

"Mr. Castle," someone interrupted from behind.

Rick pulled a sharpie from his jacket, preparing for another round of signings. "Where would you like it?"

Instead of holding out a book, the person shoved a shiny badge at him. "Detective McNulty, NYPD. We'd like to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier today."

Taken aback, Rick didn't react until Alexis leaned over his shoulder and plucked the pen from his fingers. "That's new," she offered.

"Would you mind coming with me to the Twelfth Precinct?" asked the detective.

Rick glanced back at his now concerned daughter, then over at Gina, who was schmoozing with a Black Pawn shareholder. "Can't it wait? This party is for the launch of—"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Castle. We have reason to believe there may be more people in danger; time is crucial. I can explain more downtown," he added, looking uncomfortably at Alexis.

"Alright, yeah, of course. Alexis," he turned to her. "If Gina or Paula asks, will you…?"

"Yes. Are you going to be okay?" That was his daughter, always concerned for him.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'll be fine, Sweetie. I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure your grandmother gets home safely." He winked and then followed the NYPD detective out of the party.

xXx

The following afternoon found Rick sitting in his office, blank document open and filled with the distinct silence of the absence of typing. After Gina's threats about breaches of contract and returned advances, he was doing his best to make a start on the book. He'd pulled out all his unblocking techniques and still the page was empty.

His mind kept returning to the faces of Allison Tisdale and Marvin Fisk that McNulty had shown him last night. In that interrogation room he'd seen his own crime scenes come to life. Seeing their DMV and crime scene photos side by side was affecting him more than he'd thought it would. They'd been alive. And now they weren't.

Why those people? Why his books? His curiosity was overpowering his desire to appease the publisher.

His phone buzzed and then lit up with a number he didn't recognize.

"Richard Castle," he answered.

"Mr. Castle," came a voice down the line.

"Ah, my favorite detective, McNulty. Have you cracked the case?"

"I'm afraid not yet, Mr. Castle. But we did find a letter in the fan mail your publicist sent us this morning that we believe to be connected. We'd like you to come back to the station to help us identify the sender."

Jumping at the opportunity to abandon the empty page and get some answers at the murders, Rick quickly agreed to return to the precinct downtown.

Thirty minutes later he was back in the bullpen of the Twelfth, seated in a conference room with two different detectives: Ryan and Esposito.

"McNulty showed us your file, man. You've got quite a rap sheet," said Esposito.

Ryan, who was seated across the table, started listing. "Disorderly conduct, resisting arrest. Loitering and petty theft. Then there's our favorites. Stealing a police horse. Hijacking a parade float to sing _Defying Gravity_ with Idina Menzel. And it says you put a cow on the roof of your high school?"

"And every time the charges against you were dropped. How'd you do it?"

Rick couldn't tell if the detectives were offended or impressed that he was able to get away with all the hijinks.

"The, uh, mayor is a fan. He—" His explanation was cut off when McNulty reentered the room, a bagged paper in his hand. He passed it to Rick, nodded to Esposito, then returned to his desk outside.

Rick first saw the illustration, which covered the page. In his mind's eye he saw it overlaid with Allison Tisdale's body. He read the writing around the edges and flipped it over, read the other side, but no recognition struck him.

"I'm sorry, but this writing doesn't look familiar." He folded it over and looked up at Detective Esposito, who was now looming over him. "Wasn't there a return address on the envelope or anything?"

"You're so right," said Ryan, leaning forward. He pulled the letter out of Rick's hand and stood. "Why didn't we think of that? We'll find him right away now."

Esposito was about to join in when McNulty came back and announced the lab had been able to pull usable prints from the letter.

"Great! Whose?" Rick asked.

McNulty looked at him. "It's not like the movies. We won't know right away."

But Rick needed answers now. "How long, then?"

"System's about a week backlogged right now."

"A week!? No, no." He pulled out his cell and dialed Bob's office. When he noticed all three detectives staring at him, he smiled. "Like I said, the mayor's a fan."

Bob's secretary answered after a few rings. "Mayor's office."

"Hi Denise, it's Rick Castle." The detectives were still staring at him, so he left the conference room to get some privacy.

"Hi, Ricky," she greeted. "Did you need to talk to Mr. Weldon?"

"Yeah, is he in?"

"I'll transfer you over. Just a moment."

He waited only two rings before his friend picked up with, "Mayor Weldon."

"Yo, Big Cheese! It's Ricky."

"Hey, listen, I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your party last night. Mayor things, you know."

"No, no. No worries. I had to leave early anyway because—get this—there's some psycho out there modeling crime scenes after some of my old books. The bad ones, actually, but don't tell Gina I said that."

"That's awful, Ricky. How are you doing?"

"The police have asked me to come in twice now, to look at pictures of the victims, and then to look at a letter they think was sent by the killer. They got some prints off it, but it's gonna be a week before they can do anything about it. Can you help me out?"

"Anything for you, Rick. I'll make some calls. I think I can get you some results within an hour."

"You're the best, Bob."

He hung up the phone and returned to the conference room.

"You will have your answers in an hour," he told Ryan and Esposito rather proudly.

They were about to start looking impressed when McNulty appeared at the door again, this time to say, "We got another one. Midtown."

The detectives went for their coats, but Castle stopped them. "Can I come?"

All three looked doubtful.

"You've already called me twice. Won't it save us all some time if I just go with you?"

"Given the nature of the crime scenes," came the captain's voice from across the bullpen, "I think it's a good idea."

xXx

Late the next evening, after the real killer had been caught—the second victim's own brother, Harrison Tisdale—Rick finished signing his statement with a flourish, glad that the case was over. He was glad there would be justice, but the entire ordeal had been harrowing. Seeing his crimes brought to life like that made him shudder.

It would also make his best-selling mystery writer friends crazy jealous. He _had_ to get pictures.

He wound his way between the vacant desks, relieved that few people would be around to witness his photography. He found the Tisdale file on top of a haphazard stack on Esposito's desk. Silently he lifted the manila cover and snapped a few photos of the crime scenes with his phone. Then, curiosity getting the better of him, he looked at the files beneath.

Names. Ashton Williams. Claire Kane. Victor Moffat. Neil Sugimori.

Who were these people? Cold cases? Rick already felt the draw of the mystery, still felt the rush of solving the last one. Before he could open Ashton's file, however, a framed picture on the desk caught his eye.

"Oh my god."

He picked it up, lost in the image. It was a group photo, Ryan and Esposito, and Lanie the medical examiner he'd met yesterday at the third crime scene. The fourth person, though.

 _Kate._

He'd thought he was going crazy, when he saw her on the subway three years ago.

This was the first picture he'd ever seen of her. This was tangible proof. And Esposito _knew_ her. Well enough to have a picture of her framed on his desk.

In that instant Rick decided he had to get an in with this team, this team who solved murders and knew Kate. In the morning, he would call Bob again. Montgomery liked him well enough. They'd let him do research. He'd spin it as good publicity for all involved. This would be perfect—the new novel could use this precinct as its act four setting, he would learn how to solve crime for real, and, most importantly, he would find her.

Suddenly the future didn't look so bleak. Suddenly everything Kate had ever said seemed possible, if only he could meet her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Previously: In May 2006, Kate was Detective, 3rd Grade, on the arresting team of Victor Daniels. During the search for the suspect, she disappeared, and wasn't seen again for three weeks. A month after her return, she was fired from the NYPD. In March 2009, Rick was brought in for questioning by Detective McNulty, where he met Detectives Ryan and Esposito. He decided to follow them for research for his latest novel, as well as to convince them to introduce him to Kate._

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

 _Thursday, May 14, 2009 (Rick is 38)_

"Ryan, would you _please_ stop?" Esposito asked for the umpteenth time. Ryan was supposed to be finishing his share of the Leeds case paperwork, but was instead clicking his pen so rhythmically he could have been a metronome.

"This is so boring," Ryan said, coming out of his pen induced reverie. He brought his attention back to the _x_ at the bottom of the page and signed. "How did we get through this kind of thing before? You know, before we had Castle around to entertain us?"

Unfortunately McNulty heard them. From his desk across the room he said, "Ryan, I know you miss your girlfriend. However, even when he is here he doesn't help with paperwork." He stood and went to the break room for more coffee, calling over his shoulder, "So if you would just finish yours, we could all go home." That wasn't exactly true—Ryan wasn't the only one holding up the end of the case—but Ryan wasn't going to argue with him.

"That's true," he said, turning back to his partner. "Castle doesn't help us with paperwork. Why do we keep him around?"

"Mayor told us to."

"Right."

The elevator dinged and a young redhead stepped off. She scanned the room quickly, then headed straight for Esposito and Ryan's desks. She stopped in front of Esposito and fidgeted with a strap on her backpack.

"Good afternoon, Detectives. We met at my dad's birthday party, I don't know if you remember—"

"We remember you, Little Castle," Esposito assured her.

"What can we do for you?" Ryan smiled, trying to put her at ease.

She looked relieved. "Well, my dad and I always go out to the Hamptons for Memorial Day. I've been trying to put together a surprise party for him, to celebrate closing the contract on the new book. Well, to celebrate getting out of the old contract and still managing to close a new deal."

Ryan asked, "Will it be finished by Memorial Day? That's only a week from now. It's been going on for months."

Alexis nodded. "They're supposed to finish tomorrow—he's at Black Pawn now, that's why I knew I could come here today. I wanted to invite you to join us out there. Of course only if you wanted to. Parties there can get pretty big, and I know you guys are busy, but I—"

"Whoa, Alexis, slow down. At least let us say no first," Ryan joked.

Alexis's shoulders drooped and she looked down at the hand that was still tangling with her backpack. "Okay. Sorry to take up you time. I—"

"He was kidding," Esposito hurried to explain, giving Ryan's ankle a stealthy kick. "A Castle party in the Hamptons sounds like fun. When and where?"

The high schooler perked up immediately. She swung her backpack off one shoulder and dug through one of its pockets to find two envelopes. She passed one to each detective, explaining, "The address is on the invitation. It usually takes about three hours to drive, with traffic and everything. The party is Saturday evening, but of course you're welcome to stay the entire weekend. The house is huge; there are a lot of guest rooms. People stay with us all the time. And you can invite anybody else you want, too." Alexis finally paused for breath, and continued more hesitantly. "I wasn't sure if I should invite Detective McNulty as well. I know he doesn't like my dad much, and he hasn't been to any of the poker games, but if you think he'd want to come…"

Esposito leaned in conspiratorially and told her, "I think he's just jealous your dad chose to follow me and Ryan instead of him."

"Alexis, it just so happens my partner and I have Memorial Day weekend off this year. We'll be there," Ryan promised.

"Yeah. Wouldn't miss it," Esposito agreed.

Alexis smiled wide and for a flash looked exactly like her father. "Thank you guys, so much. I mean, for coming. And for putting up with my dad these past few months. I know he can be a pain sometimes," she shook her head. "Anyway, thanks. You guys mean a lot to him. He's been really different lately, good different, like, happier, and less lost, and you guys have been such good friends. So, yeah. Thanks." She flushed a deep red, said, "See you next week!" and ran off, leaving through the stair door.

Stunned by the sudden and rapid departure, Esposito turned to Ryan. "A house in the Hamptons? How rich is this guy?"

"Have we really been that good of friends to him? That he's mentioned us to his daughter? And she's invited us for the weekend?"

In time, Ryan and Esposito would learn not only just how rich Castle was, but also that he and his family did not do anything by halves—once you were in, you were family.

* * *

 _Saturday, May 20, 2006/Saturday, February 23, 1985 (Kate is 26 [from May 2006], and 5 [from February 1985])_

"Alright everybody, this is our target." Detective Gutierrez held up the most recent mug shot of Victor Daniels and turned it back and forth so the gathered detectives and SWAT members could see. "He lives in apartment 38. My team, that's where we're headed. Chen's team, you're going up to 47 where his cousin lives."

"Sir, what about the best friend's boyfriend? He lives in 26," asked Beckett. "They're reported to be good friends as well."

"In that case, Beckett, you can check on them," he said. It wasn't exactly condescending, but Beckett's hackles rose at the dismissive tone. "And take Esposito with you. Let's see what you newbies can do."

The three teams swarmed into the building. From the second floor, Beckett and Esposito could hear Gutierrez banging on Daniels's door.

As it always did when she was geared up and approaching a suspect, Beckett's adrenaline started flowing. Her focus expanded, taking in every detail around her, constantly assessing for threat. Every movement, every doorway in the dark hallway, everything could mean danger to herself, her partners, or innocent civilians.

Esposito approached apartment 26 ahead of her, moving cautiously as well. They both startled at the loud crash above them of Gutierrez breaking down the door above them. Beckett could feel her blood rushing, could feel it practically overwhelming her senses, could feel… _Oh no…_

xXx

Kate found herself in absolute darkness, hunger and panic clawing their way through her and competing for attention. She was curled into the fetal position and could feel walls all around her; she was closed in. This was one of her worst nightmares—Traveling and ending up in an enclosed space from which there was no escape.

Instinctively her arms lashed out against the cage. Her right hand hit the ceiling and felt it give way. She was able to sit up.

Still in darkness, but now with enough light to see the outlines of objects around her, Kate saw that she was sitting in some sort of wooden box with the lid now propped up on hinges behind her. She climbed out and stood amidst what looked like several work benches. Street lights filtered in from shuttered windows and suddenly Kate realized where she was.

It was her grandfather's workshop, above the store, where she hadn't been since she was a little girl.

Priority One in Traveling was almost always clothes—people were less likely to arrest you on sight, and you had a greater chance of getting food. But this was a safe place, where no one would disturb her at the late hour. Instead, she searched for food, and found the stash of candy that Grandfather always kept around for little Katie.

Chocolate in hand, she began to explore more thoroughly, looking for both clothes and a calendar. A small paper one was tacked up on a corkboard, telling her it February, 1985. That was quite a long time ago. The twenty-third. Somehow that date sounded familiar.

Kate had a good head for dates. She had to, with the unpredictability of Traveling. She needed to know if she was near a major event, like 9/11, or personal events—like her mother's murder. The future was trickier, but she went that direction less often. Usually she found herself somewhere in her own past. Despite that, she had never been to January of 1999.

If she remembered correctly, she would be receiving a very frightened visitor soon.

She needed to prepare. She found her grandfather's locker, where he kept a spare change of clothes for emergencies. She donned the pants, cinching the belt nearly in half, and buttoned on the overcoat. She would leave the shirt for the new arrival.

In the mean time she looked around the office. Across one bench lay the book binding tools, with a few projects stacked to the side. On the opposite wall was the bench full of magic tricks, including the box she'd shown up in. It was a sight she remembered well, and one of her favorite memories from childhood. She used to spend hours and hours here with her grandfather, when her parents worked big legal cases. During that time he showed her his many tricks, both magic and his secrets to caring for books.

She loved books. She was lucky to inherit that from both sides of the family. The scent of the ink, the rustling of pages, the stories they told. All of these she was glad to be able to experience again.

A crash from below had her grabbing the shirt and another chocolate bar and rushing down the stairs. She weaved her way through the narrow aisles formed by rickety bookshelves, following the small whimpers and sniffles.

"Katie?" she whispered into the darkness. The sounds immediately stopped, and she remembered how she'd felt, curled into a ball, trying to make herself invisible, scared out of her mind. "It's okay, I'm here to help you. I brought you a shirt."

Kate held it out, feeling slightly ridiculous for trying to lure _herself_ out of a corner with a piece of clothing, like the little girl was an animal.

"W-where am I?" asked the small voice.

"This is Grandfather's bookshop. See? You're in the children's section he made just for you, with all the books you like. Look, here's your new favorite." She gestured slowly to the copy of _A Wrinkle in Time_ by Madeleine L'Engle that lay on the table between them. "You were reading it earlier today, right? But you had to leave before you got to the end, so you left it here."

The little girl finally stood and cautiously approached. She accepted the shirt that Kate offered again.

"How d-do you know that?"

Kate tried to remember how this had been explained to her two decades ago. "You, Katie, are very special. You've just Traveled for the first time, and I'm here to help guide you. So of course I know what you were doing."

"Like a guardian angel?"

 _Something like that_ , she thought, but just nodded. "Like I know that you were at home in bed after Dad tucked you in, but you couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen next in the book. And just when you were wishing you could read the rest of it _right now_ , you were here."

"They were about to fly up into space to see other planets," Katie explained. Then her stomach rumbled loudly. "Do you…have any food?"

Kate smiled and said, "Check your pocket."

The girl's eyes grew wide when her hand landed on the chocolate bar. She looked up at Kate. "Can I really eat this? I already had one today, when I was with Grandfather."

"It'll be our secret. Let me tell you, Travel always makes me hungry. I already had two."

Katie giggled, and tore into the wrapper. Mouth now full, she went on talking. "You keep saying Travel. What does that mean?"

Kate sighed. This was the hard part. How did you explain to a five year old that you were a time traveler?

"It means that you Traveled in time. And space, I suppose. You went to bed at nine o'clock, but it's almost three o'clock now, even though it's only been a few minutes. Do you understand?"

Katie considered, and took another bite of chocolate. Finally she said, "When I go back, what time will it be?" Then she got a slightly panicked look and rushed on, "I can go back home, right?"

"Yes," Kate hurried to assure her. "When you go back it will be a few minutes after you left. Nobody will even know you were gone from your bed. But when you get home, you must look at the date and remember it."

"Okay," she accepted easily, and resumed eating.

"Would you like me to show you some of Grandfather's tricks? I'll even show you the ones he refuses to explain."

Kate remembered her first impression of her older self. She'd thought the older woman was so cool, wearing her trench coat and handing out chocolate bars, spouting omniscient knowledge and explaining the illusions behind Grandfather's magic.

They spent the rest of the time before Katie disappeared going through their grandfather's amateur magic tricks. Katie was thrilled at each new revelation, and couldn't wait to show off the next time she saw him.

When the little girl was gone, Kate was satisfied she would be able to take care of herself when she next Traveled. Another Kate would be there, and Katie wouldn't be frightened. She had a long journey ahead of herself.

Kate returned to the Madeleine L'Engle book downstairs to read while she waited for her own turn to return home. It was quite the coincidence, she thought, that she'd chosen that book to love. Where time and space were bent by the tesseract, and good fought evil. She opened to the bookmark left by Katie, and smiled as the fictional children climbed aboard their winged centaur guardian, flying into the atmosphere to stare down the darkness.

* * *

 _Tuesday, June 9, 2009 (Kate is 36 [from 2015])_

The precinct was quiet at night, but Esposito had pulled the late shift and was still finishing paperwork. He returned from getting a fresh cup of coffee to find Kate sitting at his desk, looking at his calendar.

"Hey, Beckett, what are you doing here?" He took in her longer hair and obviously pilfered NYPD sweatshirt. "Is that mine?"

"You, Javier Esposito, are in trouble. One, you need to wash this thing more often—it reeks. Two, you have had my favorite author following you around for months now and you haven't introduced us."

He perched on the edge of the desk. "You're the one who keeps telling us to stop trying to set you up. Besides, you have a boyfriend right now." Beckett pulled a face. "Oh, what, is Mr. Perfect not so infallible after all?"

She glared at him. "You didn't hear it from me. In fact, you didn't hear it at all. Don't you dare tell her—"

"I know your rules. Don't worry."

She slumped back and ran her hands over her face.

"You really want me to introduce you to Castle?" Espo thought Castle was a good guy—a really good guy, who knew how to have a good time and was generous to a fault—but he didn't seem like Beckett's type. He was a little bit on the wild side compared to others he'd seen her date.

She pulled her hands away from her face and Esposito was surprised to see the almost desperate light in her eyes. She nodded. "You have to."

"He's interested in you," he told her. She smiled faintly. Encouraged, he went on, "You should see him, every time he's in here he sits there staring at that picture. He asked once, about who you were, but I thought you'd tell us both to get lost."

"Oh I will."

"Then why—Forget it. You can't tell me, I know. How about this Friday, after shift."

"You can't make the appointment with _me,_ Javi. Just take him to the bookstore sometime. Or have Ryan or Lanie do it. Whatever. Just as long as it happens."

"This guy must be really important, huh?"

She only smiled and vanished.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks to everybody who has read, reviewed, followed, and favorited. They'll be meeting soon, promise._


	4. Chapter 4

_Previously: Kate was fired from the NYPD in 2006, after she went to help her five-year-old self deal with Traveling for the first time. Rick began following Ryan and Esposito for research in 2009. Several months into this partnership, Kate (from 2015) visits Esposito, demanding that he, Ryan, or Lanie introduce her to Castle, as he is her favorite author._

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

 _Friday, June 12, 2009 (Rick is 38)_

Five thirty on a Friday afternoon was always a bustling time at the Twelfth, as everybody rushed to finish their work so they could leave the precinct at a reasonable time. When all the week's papers were finally packed up, people usually hurried to vacate the building. This week, however, Esposito and Ryan were hanging around waiting for Castle to finish speaking with Captain Montgomery about the latest plans for PR.

The two detectives watched Castle and the captain shake hands. Dismissed, Castle returned to Ryan's desk to retrieve his jacket and sunglasses. As he shrugged it over his shoulders, Espo asked,

"Hey, Castle. Want to get a drink with us tonight?"

Rick looked between the two of them and finished adjusting his sleeves. It wasn't an uncommon invitation; they went out for drinks together all the time, to celebrate a close or commiserate a loss, sometimes just to hang out. The latter had been the case more and more frequently since the party in the Hamptons. But for some reason this time the detectives shifted uncomfortably on their feet and avoided his eyes.

"Is this an intervention?"

Ryan laughed. "No, nothing like that. It's just, we've got this friend…she's a big fan of yours, and she wants to meet you."

Rick was dubious about their motives. "Guys, I'm fine with meeting a fan, but if you're trying to set me up with someone I've never met—"

"Nothing like that," Ryan repeated.

"She insisted on meeting you, though, and if you knew her, you'd know there's no way we can say no. So what do you say?"

"Yeah, sure. Lead the way."

Rick followed them to their car, and automatically climbed into his usual spot in the backseat. He'd readily agreed because he really was always happy to meet a genuine fan, especially a friend of a friend, but also because Alexis was spending the night at a friend's and his mother was out on a date for the night. And he had a feeling, just a creeping premonition, that this _friend_ they were talking about might be Kate.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

"We're going to pick her up from work. She can't drive anymore, and she hates the subway. We drive so she doesn't have to pay cab fare," Esposito explained from the driver's seat.

"And then there's this bar that's halfway between her shop and the precinct where we usually go, if that's okay with you?" added Ryan.

"What's it called?"

"The Rose and the Crayfish."

"Ooh, I love that place. Good atmosphere," Rick enthused. "Good whisky, too. I hardly ever get to go there, though. Gina says…Well." He brushed past whatever it was Gina said and went on to extol the variety of alcohol available only at The Rose while Esposito navigated the Friday evening traffic.

He finally parked the car at the edge of a wide street filled with vendors, shops, and apartments.

"This is it," he said, and led Castle across the street to a shop whose front was made up almost entirely of an iron latticed window. Protruding into the sidewalk above the door hung an antiqued sign that read _Beckett and Sons: Used Books, Antique Books, Book Repair, Custom Binding._

A bell jingled above the door when they entered, and Rick knew immediately he was going to like this shop. The narrow entry hall was lined on either side with bookshelves, packed to the ceiling. Further into the dimly lit store, more bookshelves were crammed into every available space, each of them full to bursting. Rick spun around, taking it all in, and saw a hollowed out space in front of the shop window, illuminated by daylight, which was filled with couches, chairs, and tables (and still, every wall was covered with bookshelves).

"How have I never been here?" he wondered aloud.

He turned to catch up to Ryan and Esposito, now fully expecting to see Kate.

Instead, he was faced with a teenager behind the register, who looked to be just a few years older than Alexis. She did seem to be a fan, though, because the pencil in her hand had stilled over the pages of her notebook and her eyes were wide, fixed on him.

"Hey, Caroline," greeted Esposito. "Is your…Oh." He noticed that she was still standing frozen. "Uh, Caroline, this is Rick Castle. Castle, this is Caroline Friedman."

Rick smiled and went to shake her hand. The young girl was quickly recovering, grinning now, and saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Castle. I love your books, we have some here in the shop, could I get you to, no, that's probably not why you're here." Through all of that she continued shaking his hand up and down. Realizing, she dropped it and blushed.

"I'll sign something if you want, I don't mind."

"Thank you!" She leafed through the pages of the spiral-bound notebook and tore out a blank one, then winked. "I'm sure my math teacher won't notice one page missing. Thank you so much."

While Rick wrote a short message on the page, Ryan regained Caroline's attention.

"Is your Aunt Kate here?"

Rick's head whipped up.

"Yeah, I think she's in the office. Mark?" she called to a man with a clipboard in the back corner. "Is Kate in her office?"

"Yes. She just pulled two new cases. She's up there trying to figure out how she can do both at the same time. Do you want me to get her?"

"No, I'll go. She's going to be so excited to meet you, Mr. Castle. You guys just wait here, okay?" Without waiting for an answer from the detectives and writer, she ran up the wrought iron spiral staircase behind the sales counter and disappeared from sight.

"Hey, Mark," said Ryan.

"Hello, detectives, Mr. Castle." The dark skinned man waved over his shoulder, but didn't approach them. "I would stop doing this inventory, but Kate has told me that if I don't finish by the end of the day she will make me do _all_ the inventory in the store next week, and she will finish the book repairs herself." He went back to scribbling on his clipboard.

"That's Mark Niang," Ryan told Rick. "He does most of the book repairs and bindings in the workshop upstairs, and he _hates_ doing inventory more than anything."

"Right."

"No, it's true. That's what makes it such a good threat," Mark said without looking up.

Caroline came tromping back down the staircase, shoulders slumped. "Um, Kate's actually… _out_ at the moment. Oh, she's going to be so disappointed she missed meeting you. She's an even bigger fan than me—she's the one who gave me one of your books in the first place."

"Ah, well, another time then. Thanks for letting us know, Caroline. We'll see you around."

With that hurried goodbye, Esposito and Ryan dragged Rick out of the bookstore.

"Guys?"

"It's okay, we'll just meet up with her another time."

"We can still go to The Rose tonight. We'll just invite Beckett along next time."

Confused by the detectives' suddenly erratic behavior, Rick went along with them back to the car, but couldn't resist asking questions. "Is this Kate the same as the one in the pictures on your desks?"

Esposito stopped. "How d'you know her name's Kate?" Then he reconsidered. "You know what? With her, it's better not to ask questions. You still up for the bar?"

* * *

 _Friday, June 19, 2009 (Kate is 30 [from November 2010])_

Kate slumped to the floor, nauseated like usual but lightheaded and dizzier than was normal from the ever unexpected Travel. The dark room she was sat in swam before her vision. Her left eye was beginning to swell shut, too, which wasn't helping. And several trails of blood trickled from broken skin on her cheek and forehead.

 _That idiot,_ she fumed. Why had her collar run? Why not just give up? He wasn't even a criminal—until the assault just now—so it wasn't like he'd been facing jail time. And Rick. If he hadn't put himself in the way, that slime bag wouldn't have gotten the drop on her and punched her in the face.

Her eyes finally focused through the dim lighting and took in the warm colors of her boyfriend's living room in the first stroke of luck she'd had in a while. They'd only been dating for a few weeks, but she'd spent enough time here, even before they got together, to be comfortable.

She dropped her head against the couch behind her and closed her eyes. Time to get her spinning brain and stomach under control. After a few deep breaths she was able to stand, but another wave of dizziness sent her crashing sideways into a lamp atop the end table. Still clutching the table and back of the couch for balance, Kate could only watch as the lamp shattered across the floor.

Almost immediately the stair light came on, and then Alexis was coming down the stairs dressed in pajamas and clutching a book, teasing, "Dad, are you drunk already? It's not even ten." Then her eyes fell on Kate and she stopped.

"Alexis, I'm so sorry. Let me just—" Kate spun around, searching wildly for something to cover herself with. She reached over the back of the couch for the throw, but another surge of blackness rushed over her vision and she overbalanced. She tumbled over the couch and onto the floor, unable to hold back a small shriek. But at least she now had a blanket.

She remained supine for a moment, allowing the dizziness to pass. By the time she sat up, blanket tangled around herself, Alexis had turned on a few more lights and approached the couch. "Alexis, I think he hit me harder than I thought. Can you help me up?" This was humiliating. You shouldn't have to ask your boyfriend's daughter for this sort of thing.

But Alexis was still frozen, staring at her without any recognition in her eyes.

"Oh, my god," Kate moaned. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

Alexis shook her head, but tossed her book onto the coffee table and put a hand behind her shoulder, helping her to sit on the couch.

 _Great. Just great._ Kate's cheeks flamed. This was _not_ the meet-the-family scenario she had envisioned, not with Rick, whose family was his entire world. Not with Rick, whose family she could see becoming her own.

"Okay, um…" Kate searched desperately for what to say, how to explain. "I'm sorry to barge in, I guess. I'm a… friend of your dad's."

Alexis's eyes widened and it was her turn to go red.

"Not like that! Well… That's not why I'm… Uh…"

"You're bleeding!" Alexis suddenly noticed. She appeared to be over her shock at finding an unknown, naked woman in her living room, because she darted to the kitchen and returned with a first aid kit and an ice pack.

She pulled antiseptic and cotton swabs from the box first. "Wait. Did you say a person hit you?"

Kate saw the horror in her eyes, and was struck again by the empathy the young woman held, even for a stranger.

"I'm okay, Alexis. I was chasing down a… person of interest, and he got a few good swings in. I just came here to get patched up, then I'll get out of your hair." Aware of the way the blanket draped across her arms, Kate took the cleansing supplies and began dabbing at her face.

"I can do that?" Alexis offered, but Kate shook her head. She really didn't need any more humiliation piled on top of this mess.

Alexis sat back and considered her. "Why, I mean, Dad's not even here right now. He went out with his 'cop buddies.'"

"I needed first aid."

Alexis looked like she was trying very hard to stay polite, but her curiosity was outweighing her composure. "Where are your clothes?" she finally asked.

Kate stopped, and looked at her. "Alexis, that's not something I can really explain without…sounding like I'm crazy."

"Try me. You did just show up in my living room, unannounced."

 _Good point._ _Alexis has always told me the first time we met was interesting._ She took a deep breath and began. "Okay. Um, has your dad ever mentioned his imaginary friend from when he was little?"

Alexis nodded. "But he doesn't like to talk about it much. Except a few years ago, when he was…" She hesitated, unwilling to betray her father's trust.

"It's okay, he's told me about that. With the subway?"

Another nod.

"This is kind of one of those sentences you never think you're going to say, but: I'm your dad's imaginary childhood friend."

"Kate?"

"Yes."

"As in, disappearing, through all of space and time, Ms. Katie, Kate?"

"It's not really all of space and time, it's more like I'm drawn to certain times and people, but—"

"You actually exist?"

Kate reached down and pinched the skin of her own forearm. "Looks like."

Alexis looked halfway between laughing and crying. "I have so many questions. Not as many as my dad, I'm sure, but I just. I'm sorry. I'm having a hard time believing all this."

"If you give it a while, I'm sure I'll be going back."

"Back? Like, to the future?"

Kate laughed while bundling up the soiled cotton to throw away. "I usually consider it going back home, but yes, I suppose it is currently in the future." As she set the bottle of antiseptic on the table, she noticed the book Alexis had left there.

"Slaughterhouse-Five?" She wrinkled her nose.

"We're reading it for class. Do you not like it? I thought it was good."

"I read it in school, too. It was always a little too on the nose for me. And ever since…well, the refrain was always a little to resigned, too accepting of fate for me. Not everything is meant to happen like that."

That evening, Kate and Alexis had their first ever discussion of literature, until Kate Traveled home, leaving Alexis bewildered and exhilarated, so happy to be able to tell her dad that Kate was real, that she would be with them soon, that he'd been right all along.

* * *

 _Monday, August 15, 1977 (Kate is 36 [from 2016], Rick is 6)_

When Kate recovered from the immediate effects of Traveling, she looked around to find herself in the basement underneath the stage of the Alvin Theatre. The lights were on, which probably meant rehearsals or a show was going on. She searched around, but the slacks and button down that they usually kept here for her were missing, as was the calendar Rick maintained for her. There were no drawings or stories posted on the far wall, or stacked in the closet.

She'd hoped to see Rick today, but if this was another instance of her being here before him (it could be _after,_ as well, she reminded herself) she needed to either find some clothes and food or a place to hunker down and wait it out.

A door banged open at the other end of the large, empty room and Kate hid herself in the broom closet. She listened carefully, tracking the newcomer's progress down the stairs, then around the room, before they stopped somewhere in the middle. She heard two loud thunks, and smiled. One was almost certainly Rick, sitting heavily to the floor, and the other was probably his backpack, stuffed mostly with books.

She peeked around the edge of the door and saw he was turned away from her, pulling papers and drawing implements from a pocket of his bag. He thought he was alone, and clearly wasn't expecting her. Was today the day they were supposed to meet for the first time?

He had stubby crayons today, and was scribbling furiously across a sheet of paper, humming to himself. Star Wars, she recognized, and grinned. He was still a fan, even in the future—that stupid Boba Fett in their bathroom testified to that. He'd once told her about the first time he ever saw it, how his mother had saved up money so they could see it together. His six year old mind had been blown away by the epic space adventure.

"Who's there?" he suddenly asked, standing up and looking around. Kate realized too late that she had been humming along with him.*

"Hello, young Padawan," Kate said.

"What?"

"I mean, young Jedi apprentice."

"Where are you? Are you a ghost?" Rick was still looking around him, but his eyes hadn't found the closet yet.

"No. I'm in the closet," she said. He turned toward her, so she quickly continued, "But don't come over here!"

"Why not? Why are you hiding?" Oh, he was so trusting in this time. Still so curious, and unafraid of anything.

"I'm hiding because I don't have any clothes. Actually, I was wondering if you would do me a favor. Would you let me borrow some clothes from upstairs?"

"What do you mean?"

Kate sighed. Here she was, already turning him into a criminal. "Well, there's lots of costumes in the costume room, right? Maybe you could get one of those for me, and then I'll give them back when I'm finished."

"I'm not supposed to play in the costume room. They told me to go away yesterday."

"Well then, you'll just have to be stealthy. Sneaky," she added, at his puzzled look. His six year old's vocabulary was still building.

"Like a secret mission?" Suddenly his dejection at being kicked out of wardrobe was gone and his famous Castle enthusiasm was back.

"Exactly like that. So, you bring me some clothes, and then we'll talk, okay?"

He returned less than ten minutes later, carrying possibly the most conspicuous dress Kate had ever seen. Bright pink and covered with frills, the dress had an enormous hoop skirt and puffed out sleeves. It looked like Bo Peep had had an accident with a neon paint factory.

Rick dragged it to the closet and left it in front of the door before retreating to his spot in the middle of the room while Kate put it on.

Normally she would not be picky about the clothes she got when she was Traveling, but really. This was _not_ the outfit she wanted to be wearing when meeting her future husband for the first time.

Resigned to this pink and fluffy fate, Kate stepped out of the closet and met Rick face to face for the first time. He stared up at her, eyes wide and filled with wonder.

"Where did you come from?"

 _The truth,_ she reminded herself. _He'll believe you._ "I'm from the future. Where I'm from, we're friends." He looked impressed, and awed, and slightly confused. Her heart broke for him. "We can be friends, now, too, if you want."

He looked down and was shy for the first time. "Yes, please."

She knelt in front of him. "My name's Kate."

"How do I know you can really time travel?" Ah, maybe not so trusting then.

"If you stick around, you can watch me disappear," she said. She knew she could count on that—Rick had told her that her disappearance had made the biggest impression on him during their first meeting.* "And, because I am from the future, I know that your name is Ricky Rodgers, and your mom is in a play in this very theater right now."

He smiled, shyness turning to eagerness. "We only just got here. Mom says it's a good opportunity, and we might be here awhile. I hope so. We have to move a lot. She got cast in the chorus, but she says it's on Broadway and it's the biggest job she's had in a long time. It's pretty boring right now, though, 'cause they all just sit around a table and read their lines or walk around on stage _talking_ about what they're going to do instead of _doing_ it. But Mom says rehearsals will start next week, and then previews in a few months, and then the show after that. But I have to start school before that. It's August now. School starts in September. I have to go to a new school, but I don't want to. I don't know anybody here. Do you?"

Kate knew all of this history, knew what was going to happen: to him, to her, to this play. And it hurt, not being able to tell him any of it, being unable to spare him all that pain. So she said, "Well, I know you. And now you know me."

His smile widened. "When are you going to disappear?"*

"Why, am I keeping you from your," she glanced at his papers beside them on the floor, "drawings?"

Rick shook his head, laughing as though she were silly for suggesting it. "Would you like to color with me?" he offered.

"I would love to."

Rick and Kate each took a sheet of paper and began drawing.

"Can I ask you another favor, Rick?"

"Yes, Miss Katie?"

Kate had to take a moment, because it had been quite a while since she'd heard him call her that. "Next time, can you bring some clothes that are easier to sit in? Maybe some pants? In earth tones?"

"Earth tones?"

"Here, like these." She picked out a few brown, blue, and black crayons.

"You don't like pink?"

She was about to reassure him that no, she loved this dress, when she saw the wicked grin on his face. That little punk, he'd done this on purpose. And they'd only just met.

"I also need a calendar. Do you think you could make one for me? And mark off the days?"

He tilted his head to the side, considering, then pulled a blank sheet of paper from the pile and neatly printed _August_ across the top.

Kate felt her head beginning to buzz, and knew she would be leaving soon.

"Listen, Rick. I have to go now. But you can't…you can't tell anybody that I was here, okay?"

"Why not?"

"It's a secret, time travel is a secret. I can explain more next time."

"Wait, I made this picture for you." He held up the drawing he'd been working on before starting the August calendar.

It was the butterfly. "It's beautiful, Rick." It really was. Given the dearth of crayon colors he had to choose from, the blue and purple swirled wings of the creature were very creative. Kate loved this butterfly. "But I can't take it with me. I'll explain it to you next time. Listen, can you keep it here, in the basement, for me? When I come back we can work on it some more, okay? I'm—I have to go. It was a pleasure meeting you."

She reached out her hand to shake his. Their hands met, and she disappeared.

* * *

 _A/N: You have all been very kind and encouraging. Thank you._

 _*While this entire story is based on The Time Traveler's Wife, these sentences are pretty directly paraphrased or ripped from the book, so I thought I should give some extra credit. They can be found on pages 33-41 of the 2004 Harcourt edition._


	5. Chapter 5

_Previously: In June 2009, Ryan and Esposito took Rick to a bookstore to meet their friend, Kate, though the other workers in the shop (Caroline and Mark) told them that Kate was "out." A week later, Kate, from late 2010, visited Alexis while Castle was out with Ryan and Esposito again. Young Rick met Kate for the very first time in August of 1977, in the basement of the Alvin Theatre where his mother was acting in a play._

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

 _Friday, June 19, 2009 (Kate is 29, Rick is 38)_

Kate descended the spiral stairs of the bookshop to find Caroline doing homework at the desk and Mark lounging in the seating area by the front window, reading a book. A mystery novel, she noticed, which was odd because he usually preferred non-fiction.

"Mark, what are you doing?"

"I finished the Rasmussen order on Tuesday, and no new orders came in, so I went ahead and finished your inventory for you even though you _didn't even ask me to._ How's that?"

"That's great, Mark, but I meant why are you still here if you don't have any work?"

"Oh. Well, I thought, since you weren't here, I'd hang around until closing. And this book, you know, it's not half bad. For a popular thriller." He lofted the book in his hands to show her, _A Calm Before Storm,_ and returned to reading.

Caroline had left the desk and now stood beside Kate, bouncing up and down on her toes. "You're back! I'm so glad. You missed a lot, this time."

"Good to see you too, Cary. But what could possibly happen in a week in a bookstore?"

"You remember those two cases that came in before you left?"

"It was about six hours ago for me."

"Right. Well, Mr. McLeod decided to move on but Ms. Peacock has been calling at least once a day. She insists," and here Caroline put on a voice and posed in imitation of the melodramatic customer, "'I deserve the best, and you are the best, and I deserve you. I will wait a month if need be! Kate Beckett _will be_ the detective on my case!'" Caroline resumed her normal tone. "Who knew a stolen baby spoon could be worth that much? Anyway, the most important news is that we have a new regular."

Kate knew her business was built on regulars, because despite the shop's sterling reputation it was not very well known. And the way things had been going lately, a new repeat customer was big news, indeed.

"How do you know they're a regular if it's only been a week?" she asked.

Caroline smirked, an impish glint in her eyes. "Because he's been in three times already. He came in with your boys, last Friday. Said they were going out to drinks with you, except you were already gone by the time they got here. He came back the next day, bought a book, and left. Mark said he was back again Tuesday. I'd be surprised if he's not in here again today or tomorrow." Before Kate could ask more about this new customer—an acquaintance of Esposito and Ryan's—Caroline moved on to the next subject. "When were you, by the way?"

"New Jersey, 1966. Tried to get into the city, but nobody was taking hitchhikers and I couldn't find any train stations. Or taxis."

"And did you call Jim when you got back? How is he?"

Kate smiled, appreciating Caroline's concern. "Yes, I did. He's doing well, I guess. We're meeting for brunch on Sunday, so we'll see."

"And how is—"

Her next question was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell above the door. Kate and Caroline swiveled their heads toward the sound, and even Mark twisted his neck over the back of the couch to peer between the books on the shelf that separated the entry hallway from the seating area. Hardly anybody ever came into the bookshop at this time on a Friday.

A tall person entered, silhouetted by the glaring light of the sunset reflected off the glossy windows of the building across the way. He was hunched over, squinting at his phone, but speaking into the shop all the same. "Caroline, hey. Just thought I'd drop by before going to The Rose. I'm meeting the boys there again tonight and Espo just texted—"

He froze solid when he saw her. His eyes fixed to hers and he seemed to gain half a foot of height for standing straighter.

"Kate," he breathed. For a moment he just stood there, caught up in some private moment in his head, staring at her like she was his personal Jesus.*

And then he was rushing her, crowding around her, putting his arms around her. She was enveloped in his enormous hug, too stunned to respond. She couldn't even protest.

"Oh my god, Kate," he was saying. Variations of the phrase continued to repeat in her ear until she recovered herself enough to push him away. He unwrapped himself from her, but kept his hands on her shoulders, as though afraid she would run away. Or disappear. "Oh. You're a lot smaller than I remember."

She looked up, because yes, he was a few inches taller than her, and was startled to see tears sliding down his face. Clearly this man knew her, but she had no idea who—

No. No no no. He wasn't—he couldn't be—

Why was Richard _freaking_ Castle standing in the middle of her bookstore, crying and looking like all he wanted in the world was to hug her again?

Kate glanced to her left at Caroline, who was grinning.

"Aunty Kate," she said. "This is our new regular."

"Look, Mr. Castle," she started.

"Rick," he corrected immediately. He took his hands away from her and wiped furiously at his eyes and cheeks. "You've…you always called me Rick, before."

She swallowed back the unease at the familiarity and began again. "Rick, clearly you've met me. I'm sorry, but I don't know you. Do you understand why?" She took another step back from him.

He didn't seem to mind being spoken to like a child, though, or maybe he wasn't even listening, because he was still speaking. "God, you haven't changed a bit. Except you've got a better wardrobe. Younger, maybe? I don't know, it's been so long. And everybody looks so old when you're young. Kate, I can't believe you're really here, in the present. We're both in the same time now."

His lip was wavering again, so she said, "Why don't we go to my office?" and without waiting for an answer shepherded him toward the elevator at the back of the shop. She may not know him personally yet, but she could guess that he didn't want Mr. and Mrs. Nosy—that is, her two busybody employees—witnessing this reunion.

Once enclosed in the private space on the second floor, she led him to the couch and sat herself at the other end. Immediately he resumed speaking, bowling over any questions she might have tried to pose.

"I'm so sorry, Kate. The last thing you ever said to me was 'Don't give up hope.' But I did, Kate, I gave up, and I'm so sorry. I've spent half my life trying to find you and the other half trying to forget you ever existed. I should have believed you, should have believed in you. I'm sorry."

Tears were leaking from his eyes again, and Kate didn't quite know what to do with this stranger who was crying on her couch for reasons she couldn't figure out. He looked so forlorn it tore at her heart, a sympathetic reaction she hadn't felt since being forced from the Twelfth.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. She wished he would stop. "I'm blubbering like a baby over here, and you've never even met me. You must think I'm crazy."

Well. He obviously knew about her 'disability.' No harm for it now, especially if it stopped him from staring at her like she was the last drop of rain evaporating into the desert. "Mr. Castle—Rick. I just spent several hours running around New Jersey—naked—thirteen years before I was born. I don't think crazy is the word I'd use."

For a moment he lightened up, his face beaming, and she could see a hint of the personality she'd expected of him based on his appearances in the tabloids. A fun-loving, buoyant personality, essentially happy. Not ready to burst into tears at the drop of a pin.

He reached out a hand but stopped short of grabbing her again. His face dimmed, falling back in memories. "I'm sorry. Can I just—"

"What?"

"I know you don't know me. But can I just—can I hold your hand? To tell myself that you're really here, that I'm not hallucinating or something. Because, Kate." He lowered his voice, almost whispering, like the emotion might overwhelm him again if he spoke too loudly. "I've missed you, so much. You've been…my best friend my whole life. And you're really here. Now."

Kate's head spun with all his admissions. How could she be this important to a man she'd never met? She knew the answer, of course, but the experience was entirely new to her. She reached out her hand anyway, and offered a squeeze when he took it.

Though if she thought about it, wasn't he important to her? His writing, at least. His books had been solid ground those first few years. But that was not the same thing, she decided. Whatever happened between them, in his past and her future, had a profound impact on him.

Rick pulled himself together again, beginning to look more like an exuberant child, excited by the prospect of a play date with his best friend. "Kate, would you come with me? I'm supposed to meet Ryan and Esposito, maybe Lanie too, at the Rose. They told me you guys go there together sometimes. You were supposed to go last week. Will you? I think if I lose sight of you I'll never believe this happened. I'll think it was all a dream, and you really aren't real, and I—I don't want to go through that again."

Kate didn't know what to say. She couldn't go with him, she knew that. Her boyfriend finally had the night off, and they'd been planning a big evening for weeks. Since she was actually in time today, she couldn't—wouldn't—cancel on him again. Certainly not for a stranger, even if he was her favorite author.

But how could she say no to him when he was looking at her like she held the key to all the mysteries of the universe? "I can't. I have plans tonight. But how about next week? Make Friday night visits to The Rose and the Crayfish a regular thing, huh? Ryan and Espo spend enough time there, anyway, I'm sure they won't mind going again. Next week, what do you say?"

She didn't know how one person could manage to look so simultaneously disappointed and enthusiastic, but Richard Castle was managing it.

"Yes. Next Friday. Can I come visit you in the bookstore in the meantime? This is so weird, you've always been the one who knew everything, who knew what was going to happen. Now it's backwards. Sort of, I mean, you would never tell me anything, except accidentally, like when you told me—"

He was cut off by Caroline knocking and then opening the office door.

"Kate, Josh is here to pick you up."

xXx

When Rick arrived home from the bar it was nearing two o'clock, and he was surprised to see all the lights on in the apartment. Even more surprising was the fifteen year old red head, still wide awake on the couch despite the late hour and pajamas.

"Dad!" She jumped up as soon as she saw him. Quivering with excitement, she grabbed his hands. "You'll never guess what happened to me!"

"I was going to say the exact same thing!"

"I met Kate!"

"So did I!"

Alexis sobered a bit. "Wait, what? Where did you see her?"

"At the bookstore she owns, over in the East Village. Where did you see her?"

"She showed up here, said she was from 2010. And she already knew me! Dad, she was—she was _amazing._ Just like you wrote."

Alexis pulled him with her to sit on the couch as he asked, "How long was she here? When did she leave?"

"Just a few hours. You missed her by about forty minutes. But I had to tell you. Time travel! She really does it. I saw it happen! And she helped me with my homework. Also like you said."

"She helped you with your homework?"

"American Lit. She told me she really likes reading, and Dad, the way she talked about them, you'd think she's read all the books in the world. She went so much deeper into it than I ever could." Alexis gestured to the copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_ lying on the coffee table. "She said she didn't like it, but she could write a dissertation with all the insights she had. _Dad_. Why did she disappear for so long? Why haven't we seen her until now?"

"I wish I knew, Pumpkin. But I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of her in the future."

* * *

 _Friday, June 26, 2009 (Kate is 29, Rick is 38)_

Rick was giddy, strolling through the park, making his way to The Rose. Finally, _finally_ , he was going to meet Kate, have a proper conversation with her, get to know her for real.

When they'd last parted—twenty-eight years ago—their time together had been eclipsed by the impending separation. And after she was gone, he'd been desolate.

Shaking the bad memories off himself, Rick resumed his jaunt and focused on the joy of now. Meeting Kate, The Rose, the boys and the precinct, Alexis. There were many things in his life to be thankful for right _now._

He descended the steps into the bar and secured a booth big enough to accommodate everybody. In his anticipation, which had been building all week, he was more than half an hour early. He took the opportunity to call the bookstore, just to make sure Kate was still in time.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up. "Beckett and Sons Bookstore, how may I help you?"

"Caroline, it's Rick. I was just wondering if," he lowered his voice, "Kate was still in time?"

"You're in luck, Mr. Castle. She's still here. Did you want to speak to her?"

"No, no, I just wanted to make sure. Thanks for your help." He hung up, relieved that this evening wouldn't be interrupted again. He settled in to wait, people watching to pass the time. The stories of his fellow bar patrons formed easily in his brain. That young woman by the window was waiting to hear if her family had arrived safely at their vacation house (which of course was endangered by a world dominating organization's evil weather machine). Those men at the bar were celebrating a promotion (from lowly engineer to space ship captain). And the three people in the booth behind his were clearly international spies sent to discreetly prevent the outbreak of the zombie apocalypse.

A few minutes before eight, Lanie entered the bar. When she spotted Rick, she waved and made her way to his horse-shoe booth. She sat herself across from him and gratefully took a sip from the glass of water that he pushed toward her.

"Thanks. I've been on my feet all day—four bodies! I'm glad I'm not on call tonight, Perlmutter and Jackson both had to go in."

"Four! Tell me all about it."

Luckily for Rick, Lanie didn't mind sharing a few gruesome tales from her day, but when Esposito arrived halfway through her description of the double homicide found in a sewer he put a stop to it.

"I just finished the paperwork on the sewer case from _last_ week. I don't want to hear about the new ones when I'm not on duty," he explained as he seated himself next to Lanie. When Ryan and Kate came in a few minutes later he pushed her to move to the end of the table so his partner could sit next to him.

Kate, the last one standing, offered to buy the first round and left to place their orders at the bar. When she returned, Ryan and Espo were debating the merits of the upcoming changes to New York education legislature and Rick was needling Lanie for more details about her time in the sewers from earlier that day.

Rick stopped, though, when he felt the booth beside him sink as Kate sat down. He couldn't stop himself from staring at her. She was right here, looking and sounding the same as she did thirty years ago. Time travel was mind boggling.

"What?" she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I can't help it. I'm just having a hard time believing you're really here. It's so strange—I feel like I know everything about you, and at the same time I know nothing at all." He tried to put into words the sensation of having your best friend be a complete stranger, but came up empty. He watched her bite her lip and turn her head away. That was the look she used to get when she was stopping herself from saying something she thought she shouldn't, except now it lacked the knowing smile and affectionate glances.

"What do you mean?"

Aware that the others at the table had stopped their own conversations to listen in, Rick tried to temper his answers. "I know you love to read, but I had no idea what your last name was. I know you what you look like without clothes, but I didn't know you worked in a bookstore. I know you grew up in the city, but I know nothing about your family, except that your mom was—yeah. Uh, I didn't know you had any siblings, for example. I always asked about things, but you were determined not to tell me anything that would let me find you. It was one of the only things we ever fought about."

A waiter interrupted them with a tray full of drinks and food. When he left, Kate resumed the conversation.

"Why do you think I have siblings now?"

"Caroline called you Aunt Kate. I just assumed…"

"Ah. Well, I am an only child. The 'aunt' isn't really technical. She is _my_ aunt's brother-in-law's daughter. She was looking for an afterschool job, and I needed someone to mind the store. It's a good fit; she and Mark keep it up and running while I'm… away."

"She's a good kid, too," added Esposito.

"Tough as nails," said Ryan. "She's got some scary tricks in her arsenal."

At Rick's bewildered reaction to the word 'arsenal,' Kate laughed and clarified, "She's big into martial arts. Boxing, Aikido, and archery, mostly. I think she did fencing for a semester, too, a while back."

Esposito said. "We went to one of her competitions last year. Lightning fast reflexes, almost as good as her aunt, here." He jerked his thumb at Kate, who ducked.

Rick turned to her. "You never told me you did martial arts," he complained.

"Apparently there's a lot of things I never told you. With good reason, probably."

He graciously accepted the laughter of the others before considering the odd grouping of people around the table. Two cops and an ME made sense—but how did they know a bookstore owner?

"How do you all know each other, anyway? Bookstores see a lot of homicides?"

He felt the chill immediately sweep over the table and knew a he'd touched a nerve.

"Guys, it's okay," Kate appeased their bristling. She looked slightly uncomfortable, but willing to share. She explained, "I used to be a homicide detective, slightly higher ranking than Espo." They traded teasing smirks. "An incident with…Traveling…cost me my job. But it was the right thing to do. I was a danger to people."

"You? A danger?" Rick couldn't hold back the incredulous question.

"My gun. When I Traveled, it stayed behind and a dangerous person got hold of it. In that case, he didn't use it—but he could have. Another time we might not have been so lucky."

"I see. So you knew Espo from the force. What about these two?" He pointed at Lanie and Ryan on either side of Esposito.

Lanie looked eager to share her story. "I met Kate when she was in the Academy and I was still in medical school. They had the cadets come visit a recovering GSW victim in the ER where I was doing my residency. We eventually hit it off and became friends. So I've actually known her longer than all of you—ah, except maybe you, Castle."

Rick smiled appreciatively and turned to Ryan. "What about you? Were you not at the Twelfth at the same time as Kate and Espo?"

"No, I was in Narcotics at the Nineteenth at that time."

Esposito jumped in. "After Beckett left there was a hole for a while, because our immediate superior retired and she'd been groomed to take his place. Eventually McNulty moved up. When I was assigned to his team, Ryan was brought in to be my new partner. Lanie and I introduced him to Beckett."

Rick nodded, processing the information. So his Kate had been a homicide detective? That was definitely _not_ something she'd ever mentioned. Of course, she'd never told him her last name, either…

"But you all seem to know about…Traveling."

Kate nodded, but when she spoke it was in a quiet tone. "It's not something I advertise. It's not even something I share voluntarily." She shot a glare at Lanie, who was coughing into her sip of Esposito's beer. "Time Travel has the potential to be a big disaster for, I assume, the entire space-time continuum or whatever. So the fewer people who know about it, the better."

"Wow. So then, who does know?"

"Everybody at this table. My parents. Caroline and Mark. My old boss, Montgomery—oh, right, you know him—and my training officer. An old boyfriend. That's it."

Rick turned to the others at the table, keeping his voice low to match Kate's. "If you don't tell anybody, how did you guys find out?"

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for reading!_

 _*So this sentence is basically my reason for writing this story, and is absolutely ripped from page 5 of TTTW. (The actual sentence being: "And this astoundingly beautiful amber-haired tall slim girl turns around and looks at me as though I am her personal Jesus.")_


	6. Chapter 6

_Previously: On June 19, 2009 Alexis met a Kate from 2010 and Rick met Kate in real time. She had a previous engagement with her boyfriend, mysteriously named Josh, but agreed to meet him the following week at Ryan and Espo's favorite bar_ The Rose and the Crayfish. _Rick was overwhelmed to meet Kate again, and Alexis was very impressed with the woman. At the bar, Ryan, Lanie, and Esposito all explained to Rick how they met Kate and how they found out about her Traveling._

* * *

 _Monday, June 29, 2009 (Rick is 38, Kate is 29)_

The cheery jingle of bells greeted Rick when he entered Beckett and Sons Bookshop the following Monday.

"You're looking well," said Mark from the cashier's desk.

Rick smiled broadly. He couldn't even begin to describe how bright the future looked to him at that moment.

"Mark, the sun is shining." He leaned against the countertop and counted off on his fingers. "I'm not behind on my deadlines because Black Pawn is giving me however much time I need to finish my book. Nobody's been murdered today—not in the Twelfth Precinct, anyway. And I've just walked the beautiful New York streets from my apartment to this store. I can't believe I've been living less than two miles from Kate for more than twenty years, and I never knew it. Life's funny like that, isn't it?"

Mark raised his eyebrows but his lips twitched in agreement. "I'm sure it is, Mr. Castle. But, you know, Kate has only worked here for a few years now."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Her aunt was wanting to retire, and Kate had recently…become unemployed, so she took over. Her grandmother was very relieved, I think."

"Why?"

"The business was started by her great-great-grandfather before the turn of the century, and it's never left the family. But Theresa—that's the aunt—couldn't take it anymore and was going to sell. Until little Katie stepped in." Mark grinned, and leaned in conspiratorially. "Kate is a much better boss than Theresa, if you ask me. But don't tell either one I said that."

"Is she in?"

"Yes, but she's actually—"

"Great, thanks." Rick skirted the counter and was jogging up the spiral staircase before Mark could finish his sentence.

Rick emerged on the second floor and surveyed the space for Kate. He could see from the top of the steps that she wasn't in the stacks, nor was she seated in the workshop area. Her office door was closed, though, so he knocked and entered without waiting for an answer.

"Kate, I—oh. Sorry," he said.

She was seated behind the desk staring at him, and the people in the two guest chairs twisted to look at him as well.

"I'll just wait outside." He retreated, closing the door behind him.

Who was she meeting with? And why behind closed doors? It was none of his business, he knew, but curiosity was bubbling up inside him.

To distract himself while he waited for her to finish, he decided to explore the workshop area beside the office again.

The entire second floor was one open room, except the corner walled off for the office. The workshop was tucked in beside it, with cupboards and countertops along two walls and a locked wire cage covering the third. A heavy wooden table sat in the middle, covered in fine instruments and papers and other materials needed to repair books.

Last week Mark, after growing tired of all Rick's questions while Kate was out, had given him a tour of the whole place. Rick was impressed by the level of skill and artistry required to do the work.

Finally the office door opened and the two strangers left, their shoulders slumped.

Rick returned to the office and found Kate moving her gaze between a laptop to her left and several papers on the blotter.

"Do you have a minute?"

She glanced up, nodded, and gestured toward one of the now empty seats. She was still looking intently at the laptop screen. He was surprised to see it was a Facebook page when he sat down.

She seemed to find something on the website that satisfied her, because she set her pen down and refocused her attention to him.

"A new case, that's all."

"Case?"

"Oh. Um."

In his childhood Rick had become accustomed to her balking at having to provide information she didn't want to part with, but he'd never seen her fumble like this. She was practically blushing.

"I'm a private investigator," she finally rushed out.

Rick remained still for a long moment then opened his mouth to speak.

"Uh-uh," she warned, pointing a finger at him.

He squeaked. He bit his fist. And finally he couldn't contain it.

"That is _so cool._ You're a PI?" He learned new things about her every time they were together, but this was shaping up to be one of the more awesome revelations. His best friend was a PI!

She smiled faintly. "It's not as glamorous as all that, Rick. It's not like Derek Storm."

"But still."

"There's a lot of paperwork. There's a lot of regulations. There aren't a lot of hot CIA chicks trying to recruit me."

He threw his hands in the air, teasing. "You're ruining all my fun. Fine, then. What do you do as a PI? Wait, you own a bookstore. How does that work?"

Kate sighed and leaned back in her chair. She paused, looking him over. He felt like he was being appraised, judged worthy or not. She must have decided he was, because she started explaining.

"When I was fired from the NYPD, I didn't know what to do with my life. That job _was_ my life, before that. But I was Traveling more and more frequently, and they were right, I couldn't keep going like that.

"My aunt Theresa wanted to sell this place. It was barely making black, and she wasn't really cut out for a shop keeper, customer service kind of job. But this place is—I couldn't let her do that. I took over, tried to modernize things.

"Once that project was over, I had nothing left to focus on. Traveling was even more frequent, which is when I hired Caroline. One day I Traveled and witnessed a crime. I took my info to Esposito, who by that time was working with Ryan, and… There's a rush you get, from solving a mystery. Some from a sense of justice, too. I missed it. I missed all of it, the precinct, and the mysteries, and…feeling like I was contributing.

"I applied for the PI license to make it easier to cooperate with them. Montgomery signed off on it. I didn't really expect it to become a business, but then Espo and Ryan started referring people to me and word spread. Now I do small personal investigations, and help the Twelfth when I can. It's helped our financial situation, and I'm not going quite so stir crazy anymore."

Rick took a moment to absorb the information. It was more than she'd ever previously offered all at once, but he could tell there were still things she wasn't saying. Then he smiled disarmingly and said, "See, you say it's not that cool, but that, my friend, sounds pretty awesome to me. A book I could have written, in another time."

She gave him a funny look but then shrugged her acceptance. "So did you come here for a reason? Or just to see me solve a non-crime in less than ten minutes?"

"Just to see you," he corrected automatically.

This time she really did blush.

"Right. Well, now you have. I, uh, but I have to go. Solve this case."

"I thought you already did?"

"Yes. They think their friend is missing, but I think I've already found him. Due diligence, though. I've got to go pick him up, just to be sure."

"Can I come?" he asked, eagerly sitting forward.

She looked him over again, and he wondered what it was she was looking for. What it was she saw.

"Sure. Let's go."

* * *

 _Friday, August 7, 2009 (Kate is 29)_

Goldwalk was _the_ up and coming place to be, promised rave reviews in _The New York Ledger_. The perfect atmosphere, the best alcohol, lively dancing, the paper declared. When Lanie said she knew somebody who could get them in, Kate agreed to give it a try.

Personally, Kate thought as she strode past the doormen (two sets of doormen, really), the decidedly triangular décor was a bit too modern for her taste. Everything else, though, was not as she had expected.

Knowing Lanie, she'd thought this was going to be another too-loud club that they should have quit when they were twenty-three. Instead it was a quiet place. It was spacious and not crowded, with a stage, dance floor, and bar, surrounded by small two and three seat tables. A band blew smooth music on the stage, the chatter was muffled, and the atmosphere overall was calm and peaceful. Definitely not what she'd been expecting.

Kate stood in the entrance already relaxing into the gentle ambience. She scanned the room, her leftover cop habits noting all exits and safety hazards even as she looked for Lanie.

Her friend was seated at a triangular table near the wall, away from the dance floor where several duos were waltzing gracefully.

"Lanie, this is so not what I thought it would be like when you said 'promising new club.' I was picturing the next CBGB, but this place…it's so _clean_." Kate slid into a chair and draped her wrap across the back.

Lanie grinned and handed her a folded drink menu. "I know, isn't it great? The dancing they do here is more ballroom than grinding, but they're not pretentious about it. They even have beginners' lessons sometimes."

Kate heard the wistfulness in Lanie's voice. Her friend had very little time to spend dancing these days.

"These look amazing," Kate said, skimming the list of mixed drinks. "Do you want me to get you one while I'm up there?"

Kate stood and brought the menu around to the other side of the table so Lanie could point out the best drinks. According to reviews, The Crash was the best unique cocktail they served.

When Kate returned a few minutes later with the two glasses, Lanie was watching the dancers again.

"Listen, you let me drink this first and I'll dance with you."

"Thanks, Kate. You know, you could have been a ballerina too."

Kate grimaced. "I will always appreciate the balance and coordination my years of training gave me. But I will never regret having all my toes in the right place."

"I hear you." She raised her glass and sipped. Kate mirrored her.

"This is delicious. Why don't they serve these everywhere?"

xXx

Eventually their conversation circled around to the real reason Lanie had insisted on moving their girl's night up a week.

"It's just, she's my sister. And I'm so happy for her. But it makes me wonder…" Lanie trailed off.

"It makes you wonder what would have happened if you'd made those kinds of choices?" Kate offered.

"No. Yes. I mean, this is what she always wanted. She wanted to start a family, do the whole picket fence thing. And I wanted to go to medical school. I knew that would postpone those sorts of plans, but Kate. I'm not getting any younger."

"Lanie, you are not too old to get married, or have a baby, or any of that, if that's what you still want."

"That's just it. I don't know if I even want all that anymore. When I was younger, I always thought I would have kids. But now… Well, the important thing is my sister is pregnant and happy!"

"Cheers," Kate agreed, and they toasted again.

"I do miss having Tony around, though," she sighed. Kate raised her eyebrows. Pretending to be scandalized, Lanie added, "For the dancing! Anyway, what about you? Have you ex'd the good doctor yet?"

"Lanie…"

"I'm sorry, Kate. We just don't…think he's good for you. You've been together almost, what? Four months? And you still haven't told him that you're a," she lowered her voice, "time traveler. Not only that, he hasn't even noticed!"

Kate looked down at her drink, speaking softly. "It's complicated, Lanie."

Lanie's jaw dropped. "It's a time travel thing? That's why you're with him?"

"Shh! Keep it down. But, yes. I mean, I like the guy. Have you seen him? And things with him are…easy. Just like not adding _another_ person to the list of people who know is easy. And with everything else right now, easy is good."

"Everything else like certain writers?" Lanie needled with a sly grin.

"No."

"Come on, Kate. The guy's amazing. If he didn't spend all his time mooning over you, I'd go for him."

"He does not moon—No. I'm not having this argument again. We are friends, Lanie. Whatever happens, happens. You know very well that I'm not going to try to force things."

"Honey, there's a difference between forcing things and failing to act at all! And yes, he does moon. He sees you more often than I do! Oh, and just so you know, his six months of ride along are up in a few weeks so he's going to have even more time to hang around your bookstore."

"Oh joy," she said tonelessly. But she could see Lanie knew she didn't mind that idea. "Come on. Enough about boys. Let's dance!"

She grabbed her hand and led her to the dance floor, where they tripped and laughed their way as best they could through a foxtrot.

* * *

 _Thursday, February 3, 2005/Time Unknown (Kate is 25)_

Kate sat cross legged on her couch staring down the blank sheet of paper in front of her.

"This is a stupid exercise," she told it. She didn't really think that, though. Her new therapist had given her these writing assignments. Ever since she'd started actually doing them, she'd felt more confident about the usefulness of the therapy. Writing her thoughts out really did help organize them. Having organized thoughts was a good way to get through the sessions themselves, too. They helped build her defenses against the woman.

"She's not the enemy," she said, still speaking to the page. "I am," she added more quietly. But she didn't write it down.

Frustrated by her lack of progress, Kate growled and threw the pen down. She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, moving into the kitchen for a glass of water.

 _Walk away,_ the therapist had said, _if it gets to be too much. Get up, take a walk, have something to eat. When you've relaxed, try again. You don't have to do it all at once, Kate. This will take time._

The water didn't help. Her stomach still felt off, and her mind was uneasy. Something was wrong.

She took up the pen again anyway and wrote down three sentences detailing something easy and neutral: her day at the precinct. She would get into her progress on her mother's case later, maybe tomorrow.

But then she noticed her hand was shaking, and the words on the page were blurring together.

 _Am I having a stroke?_ was her first wild thought. But then she recognized the feeling. It was an echo of the way she used to feel, the way she hadn't felt since before January 9, 1999.

She was about to Travel.

xXx

When the world came back into focus, Kate found herself staring up at a bright blue sky, the view uninterrupted by skyscrapers or trees. She turned her head to the side and felt the ground beneath her shift. It was made of sand.

She struggled into a sitting position and took in a clear view of water and beach. The sun shone overhead but a breeze from across the water kept the heat from scorching. It brought with it the scent of fish and salt.

Squinting through the bright light, Kate stood and surveyed the rest of her surroundings. Behind her, further up the beach, was a row of grasses and shrubs, and beyond that sat a line of widely spaced mansions. They looked like the houses in her parent's vacation photos, from trips they took before she was born.

She struggled toward the nearest house, a large affair painted pale blue. She could hide in the tall grasses at the edge of the beach and scope the place out. If it was clear, she would break in and find clothes and food. Otherwise, she would wait until nightfall to do the same.

Unless it had complex security. It certainly looked ostentatious enough to warrant a security system.

Movement to her right startled her, and she ducked into the brush. Two people were walking toward her several hundred yards away. She crouched and waited, holding her breath, straining her ears to hear if they were getting closer.

When she dared peek her head over the sand, she saw that they had stopped. She narrowed her eyes against the sunshine again, trying to make out what they were doing.

It was a man and a woman, and it seemed they had stopped to gaze into each other's eyes. The man had his back to her, but the woman, she looked like—

Kate's breath caught in her throat. Even across the distance, even with the glare of the sun, she could see the woman's smile. Her mother's smile.

For the first time in six years, Kate was looking at her mother.

Her heart ached. She wanted this: her mother, radiant and smiling at her father, her father, sober and happy. She wanted this, her family. (But she knew when she went home, her mother would be gone. Her father would be sober, yes, he had been for almost a year now, but he'd failed to follow through on promises before. And she herself would still be broken).

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she watched her mother laugh at something her father said. Suddenly the wind carried a hint of the sound to her. Something inside her snapped—she had to see her mother. That was her mother's smile, her mother's laughter, things she'd thought she would never experience again.

Feeling like a small child, Kate leapt from the bushes and sprinted toward them.

Her hands began trembling and she pushed harder, desperate to reach them before she disappeared, desperate to see her mother one last time. How many times had she begged to see her mother for just one more minute?

Still a few hundred feet away from her family, the world blurred around Kate. Suddenly the woman didn't look like her mother anymore. Suddenly the man wasn't her father. Suddenly the beach sand was the hard tile of her bathroom floor.

She tripped over the edge of the tub and fell in. Pain knocked around her, inside and out, as she curled up with tears streaking across her cheeks. The longing that Kate had first felt six years ago rushed back into her at full force.

How was she going to explain to her therapist that the last two months of work she'd put in had been completely erased?

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you to everybody who is sticking with me and is still reading :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Previously: In June 2009, Rick found out that Kate is not only a bookstore owner but also a private investigator. (He's thrilled). Several months later in August, Kate and Lanie met for a girl's night of dancing and discussed her relationship with Josh as well as her growing friendship with Rick. In 2005, now in therapy, Kate Traveled for the first time since her mother's death and witnessed her parents taking a walk on the beach._

* * *

 _Sunday, December 25, 1983 (Kate is 4, and 12 [from 1992])_

Kate woke up suddenly, slamming into consciousness. Today was Sunday. She'd been counting every day since last week, all the way until she got to seven. Today was day seven.

She sprang out of bed and flew to the kitchen, hair streaming behind her and socks sliding on the polished wood floor.

"Mommy, Mommy! Can we have pancakes today?" This was why Sundays were best; Mom and Dad were always home, no matter what they had for "work" and everybody had breakfast together.

Her mother looked down from the kitchen sink to the hand fisted in her pant leg.

"No, Baby, remember? It's Christmas." Mom leaned over and picked her up, setting her on the counter.

"Johanna…" Dad warned from his seat at the table with the newspaper. He was silly. He thought she would fall, but he was wrong. She sat on the counter all the time and she never fell off.

"She's fine, Jim. Katie likes sitting up here and helping, doesn't she?"

Kate nodded, but was sad. "Mommy, what am I helping with? We're not having pancakes. Why? Today is Sunday. You and Daddy are both home."

"Because today we are having Christmas dinner instead. Remember yesterday we met my Mommy and Daddy, Baka and Djed? They flew here all the way from Florida to see us. And Nonna and PopPop will be here later today too."

"And Aunt Theresa and Uncle Chris?"

"No, Baby, they're not coming. They are visiting with Chris's parents."

"Oh." Kate kicked her feet against the counter. "Will there be presents like last year?"

"You remember that, huh? Why don't you go check under the tree and find out?"

Kate leaped off the counter and landed on her feet, causing Jim to jerk even though Johanna caught her under her arms. She ignored the conversation her parents were having and slid her way to the next room, where the pine tree she'd helped decorate stood. It glowed with Christmas spirit, full of colorful lights and sparkling streamers. Her eyes sought out the ornament she'd hung near the very top, a perfect glass sphere with swirling shades of red and blue. Dad had had to put her on his shoulders to reach that perfect spot.

Next she got down on her hands and knees to look under the tree—it was filled with presents!

"Looks like Santa came," said her mother's voice from behind her. She turned around to face both her mom and dad, fisting her hands at her hips.

"Mommy," she said with a stern look.

Her mom laughed. "Yes, Katie?"

Katie glared for a moment, but then relented and went to hug both her parents. "I know they're from you. Thank you."

She felt her parents look at each other, like they did when they thought she wouldn't notice, and squeezed tighter.

"Anything for our special girl," Dad said. "How about we open one now, and we'll do the rest after dinner when your grandparents are here?"

"Okay!"

xXx

By the time the clock chimed three, the oven was filled and the stovetop covered. Her mom and dad rushed around, uncovering dishes to stir them, doing last minute dusting on the banister, and lamenting ingredients they'd forgotten to buy when the stores were still open.

Kate mostly ignored them and focused on the chores she'd been given: mashing potatoes, snapping beans, and folding napkins. She was particularly proud of the mashing job—she made sure to get _all_ the lumps—but the napkins were giving her trouble. She just couldn't get them as neat and squared as Mom.

"Katie, your grandparents are going to be here in a few minutes. Could you go wait by the door and let them in?" asked her dad, sneaking a kiss to the top of her head as he passed by with an armload of dishes.

She had just gotten to her feet when she heard a loud crash from down the hall, followed by a wail of, "Moooooom!"

Mom, who was wiping up splattered potato from the kitchen table, jerked her head up. Dad set down the stack of plates and bowls and shared a long look with her before turning slowly to Kate.

"Katie, come here," he said.

Mom had her hand on the phone ready to dial when a figure stumbled out of the hallway into the kitchen, wearing clothes that draped over her shoulders and dragged on the floor.

"Mom," she said, "my clothes were all way too small so I borrowed some of yours." She looked around the corner and saw the decorated tree. "Excellent! Christmas in July. Mom? Dad?"

They, along with Kate, stared at the newcomer. She looked like Mom but younger.

"Do you…not know who I am? You," she pointed at Kate, "how old are you?"

"I am four now. Because my birthday was—"

"Katie, go to your room," Mom interrupted.

"You mean her, right?" asked the stranger.

Kate went to her room, but she lay near the door and listened at the crack. She needed to know what was happening!

"Your name is Katie?" That was Dad's voice. The stranger answered.

"Ah, jeez. Kate told me this would happen one day. I just thought I'd be…older. Yeah, my name is Kate, and you two are the _only_ ones who call me Katie. Katherine when you're mad."

"But who are you? How did you get in here?"

There was a long pause and Kate strained her ear between the wood of the door and the carpet. The voices came back but they were quieter and muffled and she couldn't understand any of the words.

Eventually footsteps echoed down the hall and she saw two sets of shoes stop in front of her door.

Her mother spoke first. "Jim. This isn't really happening. Right? Those people in Illinois…that was a hoax. They proved it was a hoax!"

"I don't know. She—she looks like you, Jo, and like Katie. If she's not family, how do you explain how she got in? How she knows so much about us? Anyway we can't just turn her out on the street, it's seven degrees out there. And, if she's to be believed, she doesn't have any clothes other than the ones she took from your bureau."

"I suppose she does look a bit young to be working for a burglary ring…"

The doorbell cut through the silence that followed.

"I'll get it!" said the stranger from the kitchen.

Kate saw her parents' shoes scrambling at that, but they were too late to reach the door first.

"Baka! Djed!"

"Katie! My how you've grown," said her Baka. "Johanna, how old did you say she is?"

"Mama, you saw her yesterday. _And_ you were there when she was born!"

"Oh! You must be a Katie from some other time then. Well, let us in. This cold is so frigid; we should close the door and keep all the warmth inside. It's why we moved to Florida, you know, everything is much warmer there. None of these blizzards like up here in New England. My parents loved the cold, did I ever tell you that? When they moved to this country they found the coldest place they could and lived there, right on top of a mountain." Kate heard the front door slam and more feet shuffling around.

"Mama."

"Yes dear?"

"You knew about this?"

"Well, it doesn't happen very often, but our family has something of a history with this sort of thing. Hasn't happened in ages, though. My grandmother told me stories about _her_ grandfather's great-grandmother. Nobody since then…" The voices became indistinguishable and try though she did Katie couldn't pick out the words anymore.

Finally fed up, she called, "Can I come out of my room now? Please?"

"Oh no," said her dad. "Yes, Katie, you can come join us in the kitchen."

xXx

Though Kate didn't really understand it at the time, there was an extra place set for Christmas that year. And their mysterious guest, who shared her name—and to whom she had to give one of her presents to open— was gone by the time she went to bed.

* * *

 _Thursday, July 13, 2006 (Rick is 35, Kate is 26)_

Another day, another boring meeting with Black Pawn and Gina. They'd been divorced nearly two years, separated another two before that, and emotionally distant since…well, almost the beginning.

Usually meetings with her were fine—she was an excellent publisher, worked well with the publicist and the editors, but sometimes. Sometimes she pulled out of her professionalism and taunted him with their marriage, with their divorce and the reasons behind it, with characteristics about himself that he knew to be true but would rather not face head on, thank you very much.

If Paula and Gina and everybody else at Black Pawn wanted him to play Playboy, why were they surprised when he acted like that?

 _Do you even_ have _any real friends, Rick?_

That question stung deepest.

 _Yes, of course I do, who doesn't?_ was the obvious answer. But not, on reflection, the truthful one. _No, just like you people, they like me for my money and my favors and my charming good looks_ felt more like reality.

He'd been wandering aimlessly since the meeting ended, searching for that inspiration they were all so desperate for him to find, and passing the time until he needed to pick up Alexis from her movie. A glance at his watch told him he would be late if he didn't go now.

Rick finally looked up and was surprised to find himself down near Wall Street. Mentally comparing routes, he decided he would have to ride the JZ to Chambers Street and switch stations to get up to midtown.

He'd thought it would be the less crowded option so early in the afternoon before rush hour, but he'd been wrong. He was packed into the train car between a teenager bobbing his head along with the tinny music blasting from the headphones around his neck, an old woman with an eccentric sense of style (not unlike his mother's), and a businessman struggling to make his cell phone work underground.

He looked around at all the people in the car, but not even people watching held any appeal or inspiration. He finally gave up and simply focused on keeping his balance as the car pulled into the next station, paused to let people off and on, and then continued.

When it reached Chambers Street, he let himself be pushed out in front of the business man, pausing to apologize for knocking into the old woman—she waved her hand as if to say it was nothing—when a head of hair striding toward the car behind his caught his attention.

He caught a glimpse of the face beneath it and gasped.

No. It couldn't be. But she looked exactly—

He began fighting against the crowd, trying to make his way through toward her. It was Kate, it had to be. The first time they'd met, she'd come in his time of need. And if ever he were in need again, it was now.

"Kate! KATE! Hey, Kate!" She either didn't hear him or it wasn't her and it wasn't her name and they'd all been right all along.

No.

With a final surge against the people, he shouted again, "KATE! Please, move, I have to—"

The subway doors slid shut behind her back.

xXx

 _Thursday, July 20, 2006 (Rick is 35)_

Was he crazy?

Was she really just a figment of his imagination, like all the therapists said? He'd said it himself, he saw her when he needed her most. But then, where had she been for the last twenty-five years?

Why now?

Maybe he really was crazy.

 _Must be,_ he decided. "I must be to be sitting here in a subway station waiting for a woman who's probably a hallucination."

"Hmm? Sorry, I didn't catch that," said the man sitting on the bench beside him.

"No, nothing. Sorry."

But he'd resisted a whole week before coming back. (It had nothing to do with the fact that he'd seen her on a Thursday, a day proven to be a day she rode the subway).

xXx

 _Thursday, October 19, 2006 (Rick is 35)_

So what if it's been months and he hasn't seen her a second time? The Chambers Street JZ station was like his second home now—he'd written almost half of that Storm book Gina was bugging him about sitting right here on this bench. Since school started he came from dropping Alexis off and stayed until picking her up.

xXx

 _Tuesday, March 6, 2007 (Rick is 35)_

Alexis was starting to worry about him. He could see she got that little crinkle in her forehead every time he left the house. She thought it was because he was partying at increasingly odd hours (and to tell the truth, he had been, to a certain extent. But most of it was going to Chambers Street).

His mother had noticed as well, though he can't tell if she knows the real reason he'd been out so much lately. Did she know he was slipping back into the hole they'd spent three years of therapy pulling him out of? She'd spent a significant amount of time babysitting lately, even if Alexis was twelve and only needed someone looking out for her. Maybe she should just move in (he shuddered).

He was convinced he'd seen her again, several weeks ago, though he hadn't had any more luck catching up with her as she boarded a train. But it was enough to refortify his belief, so he would ignore his mother and daughter's worries for now.

xXx

 _Saturday, April 14, 2007 (Rick is 36)_

Rick sat on his customary bench, going about his customary bench activities: writing and people watching. A particularly interesting person happened to walk by just as a uniformed police officer approached.

"Sir?" the officer addressed him. "I'm going to have to ask you to move along. We've had some complaints from—sir, are you listening?"

He wasn't. He was craning his neck around the uniform to try to relocate that person he'd just seen. Instead, he saw a flash of familiar auburn hair.

He tried to rush passed the officer, but in his haste knocked him over. He scrambled up, sprinting for the train, and was surprised to find himself the next moment sprawled across the disgusting tiles of the metro station.

He ended up with a ticket for the loitering but he sweet talked the officer into letting him off from assault (with the promise that he would stop loitering).

xXx

 _Monday, June 18, 2007 (Rick is 36)_

"I am your biggest client," Rick argued in front of the publishing team. "Who's next behind me? Eric? One Derek Storm sells more than _all_ of Eric's books combined. You know I deserve this chance. Please."

"Mr. Castle, as you've pointed out, a single Derek Storm book sells very well. Why should we move on from that?" asked one of the stuffy executives.

"I finished _Storm's Last Stand_ early. I'm almost finished with _Storm Fall_. I'll finish that—it's the perfect place to end the series—you'll see when you read it—and then I'll work on the new one."

Another exec chimed in. "I have to say, we haven't seen you this excited for a new title in quite a while. What's changed?"

"I've…learned a lot this past year. I want to be able to share that, with my readers."

"Well then, what can you tell us about this new book?"

"Not much. Just that it will explore the humanity of the characters more deeply than any Storm novel ever could."

They seemed to like that, nodding their heads along as he explained, though Gina in the corner rolled her eyes.

"Anything else you can share, Mr. Castle?"

"Just the title."

"Go on."

" _Finite Laughter_."

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for reading! I apologize for all incorrect information but especially on New York geography and Serbo-Croatian familial names…if anybody has better information or personal experience they'd like to share, I'd love to hear about it (and fix it)._

 _Would adding a time stamp in relation to the current present time be helpful for following along (given my infrequent updating…)? Or are the dates and ages enough?_


	8. Chapter 8

_Previously: Rick is a successful mystery writer, but after sighting Kate on a Subway and having something of a mental break, he decides to try writing serious literature_ —Finite Laughter— _and investigates cases with Detectives Ryan and Esposito for research. Kate, a former detective, now owns a bookstore and runs a small PI business out of her office. She also happens to be a time traveler, and Rick knows her from when he was young. The two are slowly becoming friends in the present._

* * *

 _Saturday, July 4, 2009 (Kate is 29, Rick is 38)_

Kate ambled along Broome Street, trying to moderate her pace. She was already early enough and speed walking would make her unfashionably early. To force her feet to slow down, she took her time examining the affluent SoHo neighborhood.

She'd spent half her youth here—she'd crossed it on her way to school for four years, and spent two and a half years roaming its streets during her time at NYU. Since then, however, she'd had little occasion to return. Even when she'd had a steady paying job, life insurance payouts, and old family money, she'd never have been able to afford a place like the ones she was looking up at now. Certainly not these days, with the bookstore and PI office barely earning enough to cover costs.

She appreciated how little the area had changed over the years. The old facades still stood tall, announcing just how rich the residents were. Scaffolding and piles of trash bags proved just how much a part of Manhattan the neighborhood was. And it was nice to know that even here, where the rich gathered, hotdog vendors and tourist shops thrived.

She reached the corner of Crosby and looked up. The penthouse, he'd said.

 _Wow,_ she thought.

She approached the wide doors, where a doorman stood ready. He pulled the door open for her and ushered her in with a greeting. A second doorman inside checked her name against a list on his desk, then directed her to the elevator. Everything in this building was modern and sleek, but Kate was surprised to find that it was warm enough to feel more like a home than a sterile office building.

She stepped off onto the fourth floor and made her way down the carpeted hallway. With a final glance at her watch (and a grimace; still five minutes early) she raised her fist and knocked.

A moment later a high pitched squeal sounded from the other side and the door opened on a young redheaded girl.

"Kate, you're back! Come in, please come in."

"I'm back?" she asked, stepping over the threshold.

"You were here this afternoon… you helped me with my homework." A look of realization crossed her face. "You must have been from another time. I just thought, because your clothes were so normal earlier, and you came through the door…oh well. You're here now, for the party!"

So this girl knew about her Traveling as well. So much for keeping the number small. "You must be Alexis. Your dad talks about you all the time."

"Good things, I know. It's nice to meet you—again. The last time was a bit more…spectacular, I have to say. I'll go get Dad!"

She raced away, leaving Kate to take in the unfamiliar space.

It was decorated expensively, yes, but it wasn't ostentatious. Touches here and there showed how well lived in this apartment was—a childhood painting on the fridge, several dog-eared magazines on the table, a whiteboard with a grocery list scrawled across it. It certainly wasn't what she'd expected, given the image of him that had formed in her mind from his appearances in the papers. Although, that image didn't fit a teenage daughter either.

It was a lovely home, she decided, and she wouldn't mind spending more time here if Ryan and Espo convinced her to come to one of their fortnightly poker games.

The host appeared through a door to her right and threw his arms in the air in greeting. "Kate, you made it! Excellent, you're the first one here. You can help me plate the hors d'oeuvres."

"Dad! No! She's a guest. Don't put her to work."

"It's fine, Alexis, I don't mind," Kate assured the scandalized girl. She was rather relieved, actually. If she was busy with her hands she could put off having to mingle with the strangers who would be arriving at any minute. "I'm interested in hearing about how the famous Richard Castle made his own crab puffs and deviled eggs."

She followed Rick into the kitchen. From the doorway she'd been able to see the two dishes, but stepping into the open kitchen allowed her to see the full spread—and mess—of about ten different platters.

He went to the sink to wash his hands, but glanced at her and caught her wide eyes. "Normally I have parties catered. But since this is pretty small, and I haven't had the chance to cook in a while, I thought I would just do it myself. But then I got distracted earlier and I didn't finish arranging these—oh look! Alexis finished the guacamole for me. Thank you, Sweetie!" he suddenly yelled over her head.

He moved around the counter and gestured that it was Kate's turn. As she washed her hands, Kate thought, _Even the water is top quality_. She felt slightly ridiculous.

"So, a small Fourth of July party, huh? No all out blow out? No fireworks from the rooftop?"

He laughed, but his cheeks reddened. _Now that's_ _a story_ , Kate could see him not saying. "Sometimes. But not usually on the Fourth," he answered aloud. "No, today it's mostly people I've met through the precinct—officers, not criminals! I hope that's okay. I asked Espo about it, and he said you were still on good terms with most of them, you know, still working there part time and all."

"No, Rick. That's great. I was afraid you were going to be the only person I knew. Actually, it's been a while since I've had a case that took me to the Twelfth; it'll be good to catch up."

They stood side by side at the counter artfully arranging finger foods on a variety of platters that Kate thought looked like could have come from her own eclectic collection.

The doorbell rang before they finished, but Alexis rushed to answer it again. She admitted a group of laughing teenagers. They greeted the adults with a, "Hi, Mr. Castle," and a few even came over to introduce themselves to Kate.

"The Youngs, Avery's parents," he pointed to one of the teens, "were originally hosting a party for all of their friends tonight, but they were suddenly called out of town for work. Alexis volunteered here as a last minute substitute."

"That's sweet you let them crash here."

"Until they outnumber us. No, they just want a roof to watch the fireworks on instead of dealing with giant drunken crowds. Then they're going out to a movie."

True to his word, Alexis and her friends soon took bags of popcorn and pretzels from the kitchen and headed for the roof.

Kate turned to Rick and snagged a tortilla chip from one of the plates. "Alexis mentioned homework. She doesn't seem like the type to get put in summer school."

Rick took it for the question it was. "She's in _voluntary_ summer school. I don't know what's wrong with her." But he had that warm smile on his face. "She's taking a literature course, trying to get state requirements out of the way so she can take college courses during her senior year. But she only just finished being a freshman, what does she need to think about college for?"

Kate hadn't known Rick for very long, but even she knew just how much of his world revolved around his little girl. He tried to hide it, but he was worried about the future.

 _Hah. To worry about the future. Imagine that._

The doorbell rang again and this time Rick went to answer it. Soon the loft was filled with familiar faces and Kate fell into easy conversation with Roselyn Karpowski.

Kate didn't realize how much time had passed until Rick announced that the fireworks would be starting soon, if anybody wanted to watch on the projector he'd set up.

He turned it on and the pre-fireworks coverage took over, capturing the attention of the guests.

Rick made his way back toward Kate. "This building really doesn't have a great view from the roof, but I don't think the kids cared."

"Just looking for a place to hang without the adults," Kate agreed.

"Yeah," he smiled at her.

The door to the loft opened again suddenly, though most of the officers ignored it in favor of the loud display that had just begun.

Rick looked surprised by the entrance of the colorfully dressed woman, but not alarmed.

"Mother, what are you doing here? I thought you were going out with—"

"Yes, well," his mother said, waving her hand dismissively. "I _was_ , but that awful Garrett Ackerman was going to be there and I just don't think I'm up to the challenge of making polite chit chat with him and his wife—oh, hello, dear. Richard, who is this?"

"Kate, this is my mother, Martha Rodgers. Mother, this is Kate," he began, but he stopped when he saw his mother's face drain of color.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Kate said, offering her hand.

"Oh, yes, of course," Martha replied faintly.

Suddenly Kate became aware of the loud sounds of the fireworks coming from both Rick's surround sound system and outside. What's more was the shaking throughout her body that each explosion brought.

She turned her head away from Martha and muttered, "Rick. I need to, uh, _go_ now. Like, right now. Is there somewhere I can leave my—"

"Oh. Ah, yes, just, right through here, yeah, nobody should be in here, just—"

She caught a glimpse of a king size bed and a life sized lion portrait before she was gone.

xXx

"Mother, this is Kate—" Rick stopped. He hadn't seen his mother look that close to fainting since Garrett Ackerman fired her.

He watched Kate introduce herself, but was focused on his mother. She didn't normally react this way. Surely she didn't know that Kate was _that_ Kate just from her name?

Then Kate was saying she needed to go, and what? Oh, oh! Yes, he needed to get her out of the crowded room before everyone from the precinct saw her vanish. He remembered just exactly how much of an impression that kind of disappearance could make.

He led her into his bedroom, but had only just stepped out of view when he was standing above a pile of clothes. He paused for a moment, but decided she wouldn't mind if he folded them and left them on the chair for her. If she didn't come back, he could deliver them to the bookstore for her.

Rick turned away from the chair and found himself face to face with his mother, an entirely new expression on her face now. Tears. There were tears in his mother's eyes.

"Oh Richard, I'm so sorry."

"Mother, what is this about? Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

"Richard," she sniveled. "I owe that woman s-so much. And you, I owe you such an apology, for everything I put you through. I never believed in you but I should have, I should have. Can you forgive me, darling?"

Rick, bewildered, tugged her hands away from her face and wiped at a tear that spilled across her cheek. "Forgive you? For what, Mother? What are you talking about?"

"Kate, Richard. I—I knew her. I met her once. And, like you, I…went a little crazy trying to find her again. But I didn't have my mother telling me to give it up. My mother didn't tell me she wasn't real. She didn't force me to go to therapy for years, convinced I was—"

He interrupted before she could work herself up anymore. "Mother, it's in the past. I've moved on, and best of all, I've found Kate. There's nothing to forgive." He smiled and pulled her into a hug.

"You have such a good heart, Richard. Thank you."

* * *

 _Thursday, April 2, 1981 (Kate is 29 [from 2009], Rick is 10)_

Kate came to in near darkness. When her eyes had adjusted to the sliver of light from beneath a door to her left, she saw she was in a small closet. A sloppily folded pile of clothes sat in one corner and a stack of papers was in another. Several crayon drawings were taped up on one wall, though it was too dark to make them out. Next to the door was a hand drawn calendar that told her she was in 1981.

She brought the clothes towards herself. First she pulled on a pair of tan slacks, then a pale pink button down and ballet flats. All in her own size.

Immediately suspicious, she leaned her ear to the door, careful not to bump into it in case it creaked. A high pitched voice sang on the other side.

" _Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow..._ "

Kate pushed on the door slowly and peered through the half-inch crack. A young boy sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. He held a pencil in his hand and hunched over a paper on the ground in front of him.

" _When I'm stuck with a day that's gray and lonely…_ "

And he was singing to himself. Kate couldn't quite place the tune until—

" _TOMORROW! TOMORROW! I LOVE YA, TOMORROW! YOU'RE ALWAYS A. DAY. AAA-WAAAAAY!_ "

Kate's first thought was _Wow, does this kid have a set of lungs_ , but then the boy was looking straight at her.

"Kate!" He scrambled up, abandoning his papers and hopping over to the closet. "Are you dressed yet? Why don't you come out?"

Well, if he already knew her.

She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped out into the dingy space. It was all brick, with a rickety wooden staircase along the far wall and enough spiderwebs to pass for a haunted house. A single yellowed bulb hung from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows through the woodwork and dust. There were no windows.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, putting on her authoritative cop voice.

He grinned and didn't seem the least bit intimidated, the little kid smile splitting his face and showing all his teeth. "Waiting for you," he said matter-of-factly.

"Were you singing _Tomorrow_ from _Annie_?"

"Yes, but don't worry, it's a good day."

"A...good day?"

His smile fell and she recognized the look that took over his face. He knew her, and he was starting to realize that she had no idea who he was. It was a look she'd seen on several people who knew of her travel, but only one had ever had quite that expression of despondency.

"Rick?"

He perked up right away. "Most people call me Ricky, but you always call me Rick. You know, you always told me that one day you'd come here and it would be the first time you ever did, and you wouldn't have any idea who I was. But you were wrong, 'cause you just said it: My name's Rick. And you're wearing your clothes, just like always, and I bet you looked at the calendar first thing. I waited _six whole weeks_ since the last time you were here. That's a long time. You're usually here more often than that, but then—did you see yesterday on the calendar? How it was circled all big? That's because it was my birthday, which you used to know, and you'll probably know next time, but you probably don't know now. But it was my birthday yesterday, and I turned ten."

Here he paused for breath, but that didn't slow him down for long.

"Anyway, that's what I wished for on my cake—for you to come again. I guess it worked! It's a really great present for my birthday that you're back. Six weeks is a really long time and I missed you a lot. But you've never been here before! I have so much to tell you—no, wait, I'm not allowed to. You told me not to tell you. But I can probably tell you about _Tomorrow_ , right? A good day is what we call it when we like the song. Bad days are when it drives us crazy and we can't stand to listen to it anymore. But today is a good day and it's stuck in my head so I was singing. Momma says I'm getting better at the big notes at the end. What do you think?"

Startled by the sudden silence around her, Kate didn't answer right away. The young boy looked up at her expectantly.

"I think I just met your mother for the first time in my present," she offered.

Ricky gasped. "Really? You've never met her here. I always say you'd like her, but you won't ever go upstairs. Probably because it's one of your rules."

"My rules?"

"Thou shalt not interfere with things known to happen," he recited. "That's not how you said it, though. I made it better. All _you_ said was that you weren't going to try to change anything."

That was true. It was one of her biggest rules. _Don't interfere_. This rule dictated her life—and when it didn't, bad things happened.

She noted his sudden lack of speaking. "Are you sulking?"

He looked up again. "No! It's just that it's a stupid rule. You could have changed so much stuff!"

 _If only_.

"Like that time we went to get ice cream and then a bike messenger almost ran us over and instead he just spilled my cone! You knew it was going to happen, too, 'cause you pulled me out of the way. But you could have saved my ice cream!"

"We went out for ice cream?"

"Yeah, it was awesome! You had this box buried in Central Park, and we had to go dig it up to get some money. We were like spies on a secret mission! Or treasure hunters, chasing pirate treasure! You said it was more like archaeology, but I didn't know what that was. You even had a song to go with it. You said it was from a move that still wasn't out yet, but that I would really like it when it did. It kind of sounded like Star Wars. Kate, what movie is it? I want to see it!"

"If it's still not out I don't think I should tell you."

"But Kate!"

She needed to change the subject and not give away any more of the future."Rick, why are you in this basement?"

"Oh, right, you don't know. This is the Alvin Theatre, on West 52nd Street, off Broadway. My momma's in the show here, so I have to come here after school until it's over, 'cause there's no babysitter. Well, there used to be, but that was so long ago I can hardly even remember her! She was our neighbor, but she swore up and down that she wouldn't ever babysit for me or Mom again. Momma was really mad, but now she's glad that I can entertain myself with the theater here, because she doesn't have to pay for a babysitter anymore. This is the sub-basement, so they can't hear us upstairs. I don't think anybody even knows it's here, because they would have made me leave. They don't like me to be anywhere. Sometimes, if you listen real close, you can hear them when they sing _Tomorrow_ at the end. That's why it was stuck in my head."

A breath.

"Sometimes you sing along with me. But the show is probably almost over, and Mom will be looking for me. I wish you had come sooner, you could have helped me with my math. Mr. Reese keeps making the fractions harder. But I know you can't help it. I'm really glad I got to see you before I have to go. Imagine if I'd waited all those six weeks and then I was at home when you were here! You'd leave me a note, though, right? You usually write me a note if you're here but don't see me. Oh, but this time you wouldn't have known! You might have wandered out and lost those clothes! Don't do that, okay? It was hard work sneaking those out of wardrobe."

"I won't, I'll make sure they stay here. Rick, shouldn't you be going?"

"Yeah. I'll see you next time." He said this firmly, as though to elicit a promise from her that she would be back. When she didn't make any such promise, he threw his arms around her waist anyway, squeezed, and then bounded off to the stairs which shook as he ascended. "Bye!" he called over his shoulder.

"Bye," she replied softly. So that was the future Rick Castle. Who knew?

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long. Thanks to anybody still reading :)_

 _P.S. PM me if you would be interested in/willing to beta. Clearly I need help._


	9. Chapter 9

_Previously: Rick invited Kate to his 12th Precinct Fourth of July Party, where she met Alexis and Martha. After Traveling away from the party, she met young Rick for the first time when he was 10, in the basement of the Alvin Theatre where his mother was an actress in the show_ Annie _._

* * *

 _Monday, April 19, 2010 (Kate is 28 [from 2008])_

Kate did her very best to obey the law at all times. Justice lived in her heart, and theft violated that. So taking unclaimed donations from the alley behind a secondhand shop was the closest she came to stealing—unless her life absolutely depended on it (like when she was stuck out of time for weeks and couldn't access any of her money and really needed some food).

She walked aimlessly down Lexington Avenue, grateful to whoever had made the recent donations she was currently sporting. Though the soot-gray sweatpants barely reached her ankles and the v-neck had stains around the collar, at least she wasn't wandering around East Harlem naked.

Kate considered her destination. She was in no immediate danger of getting arrested (for public indecency), getting run over (in the middle of the street), or drowning (in the middle of the river). A calendar in the secondhand shop's window had told her she was only a few years in the future, so the bookstore was probably a safe place to go. She could also go to her apartment, because she had no plans to move out of that rent-controlled haven any time soon.

Or she could push her luck (as she usually did) and search for crimes in progress.

Though the payoff wouldn't be for two years, she could commit the details to memory and record them for Esposito for the future. As long as she didn't try to prevent the crime, her witness account would only help the police.

She decided to make her way south toward East Village but keep her eyes open for wrong-doings. She was unlikely to come across anything homicide related—usually Travel that took her to that sort of crime scene was direct and short, lasting no more than half an hour—but she might find a B&E or the aftermath of an assault.

That was always the worst part about Traveling to the future. The knowing what was going to happen, but being unable to do anything to change it. She could only try to bring justice after the fact.

Kate shivered suddenly, despite the warm spring air. She leaned against the brick of the building to her left and breathed. Memories of times she'd tried to change things rushed over her and she struggled to keep them at bay.

 _October 1998, her own face, older, staring back at her, contorted with anger, pulling down the collar of a borrowed shirt and revealing puckered skin. Just a month later, her birthday, Travel, teenage follies and a lie, the course of events irrevocably changed. February, 1999, the horrible realization_ —

Kate focused her breathing and heartbeat, counted to ten and back, and brought herself under control. These were only a handful of the techniques she'd learned in therapy, perfected through practice, and rarely needed any more. But the future always had strange effects on her.

It forced her to think about her inability to change anything, and often unbalanced her thoughts. Sometimes it messed with her senses, blurring her vision or dampening her ears, making everything feel furry or metallic or searing hot to her touch. Sometimes it felt like a dream. Usually it was like looking at the world through a gauzy curtain, as though it might not actually be there.

This time, she felt surprisingly grounded aside from the emotions it had just stirred up.

She pushed herself off the building and resumed her journey south.

At every alley and back street she turned her head, searching for signs of criminal activity. She was so engrossed she barely noticed the trio of people walking in the opposite direction until one of them stopped abruptly in front of her and said, "Kate?"

She looked up. None of the three looked familiar, but she would play along as she had before.

"What are you doing all the way up here?" asked the handsome one in the middle.

"I, uh. Was on my way to get some coffee. Best coffee shop in Manhattan up here," she improvised, gesturing toward the coffee shop up the street. She mentally cringed when she realized it was a Starbucks—of all the ubiquitous coffee houses…

"Oh! Would you like to join us? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages." He broke away from his companions and came to drape his arm over her shoulders. She suppressed a shudder—he was somewhat (really (okay, extremely)) handsome, but she wasn't one for PDAs, especially with strangers. "Honey, you remember John and Fred? They were at the pediatric wing's fundraiser last month. Oh, no, you weren't there for that one. Well, John and Fred, this is my girlfriend, Kate."

Kate found herself shaking hands with the two men and exchanging "nice to meet you's" all without the third man's arm leaving her shoulders. She settled back against him, trying to act natural. It _did_ feel good, she supposed, though it would be nice to know his name.

"Come on, we were going to get coffee for our lunch break anyway." He steered her forward towards the Starbucks.

"So Josh," _Aha_ , "where have you been keeping her?" asked Fred.

"Afraid we're going to steal her away?" added John.

Josh laughed. "No, we're both just busy all the time. You know how missions go, and when I'm not out there I'm in surgery here. Plus, she runs this little book store down on the lower East Side. They make these amazing bindings—you know that book in my office you were admiring? She and her assistant did that."

Kate listened to the three continuing to rib each other while turning over all that information in her head. The preliminary conclusion she drew was _doctor_ , all three of them, possibly pediatric surgeons. Most likely they worked at Mount Sinai, only a few blocks away.

By the time they were seated with their coffee, she knew a lot more about the man whose hand was now resting on her thigh beneath the table: Joshua Davidson, _cardiac_ surgeon, star doctor of Doctors Without Borders, and all around alpha guy hell-bent on saving the world, one person-in-need at a time.

"How long have you been dating?" John inquired, leaning back in his chair.

Kate started to answer, "A few…" and then realized she had no idea. She brought her latte up to cover, and luckily Josh finished for her.

"Just a little over a year now, in March."

Kate choked. A year? Well, that was certainly the longest relationship she'd ever had. But if they'd been together that long, surely he knew about the Travel? Maybe that's why he hadn't questioned her odd clothes or inability to answer the simplest questions.

"You alright, Sweetie?"

"Yeah, just. I guess I didn't realize it's been that long. It feels like the blink of an eye, you know?"

He smiled genuinely, making him even more attractive, and kissed the tip of her nose. John and Fred made sounds of protest.

Josh turned back to them. "Oh, what are you? Six year olds?"

"No, man. It's just you. You always gotta show us you're better, doing better at surgery, going on more missions, being all cute with the hottest girl."

"If we wanted to see that we'd've stayed in Mrs. Bowles' room on the fourth floor."

"Oh no, I'm never going back there again. Dr. Hart can deal with her from now on."

Kate was glad they had moved on to a topic where she was not expected to know what they were talking about. At least now her confusion was ordinary and she didn't have to pretend like she'd known this man for more than a year.

John changed the subject to a recent publication in the _American Journal of Medicine,_ something about heart disease and psoriasis and shoddy lab methods. All three doctors had their own ideas about the study, and soon they were discussing what research they might like to conduct themselves, given the time and funds. Kate listened with interest, but as always when she was out of time most of her attention was given over to blending in and learning her surroundings.

Half an hour later the three doctors' lunch break was over, and they pushed back their chairs from the table. Josh picked up her empty mug and followed Fred, who was leaving. They piled the dirty dishes into the bin next to the door, and stepped out into the pleasant air, agreeing that they should be getting back. Kate added that she needed to go back to the bookstore.

"Well, Kate, it's been lovely meeting you," said John, offering his hand again.

She took it and replied, "You, too. I'll be sure to make it to the next benefit."

"You should stop by the hospital more often," said Fred. He raised his eyebrows at Josh.

"Now, now." He turned to look at her. "I'll see you later, after my shift. I'm off early tonight, so I thought we could go to Maria's again."

"That sounds great," she agreed easily. Whatever _Maria's_ was.

Josh smiled broadly and kissed her. "See you later," he whispered in her ear. This time when she shivered it was a good thing.

He gave her one last look and then started walking up the street, back towards the hospital.

Kate finally felt she had something to look forward to in the future. Someone to spend time with, dive into it with, who was also a pretty good kisser. And they'd been together so long. She must really like him.

And he was _really_ good looking.

* * *

 _Monday, July 27, 2009 (Rick is 38, Kate is 29)_

It had been more than a month since Kate had come back into his life, and Rick was finally starting to feel confident that she wasn't going to disappear again. Not that a month was forever, but having her back, getting to see her and talk to her, it was like erasing some of those most horrible years.

And now it was almost better, because he didn't have to sit around in a basement waiting for her to show up—he could go to her whenever he wanted, call her, email her, invite her over.

Okay. Not _any_ time, because he didn't want to overwhelm her, and she'd asked him to cool off a little, but still. He had his best friend back.

As he had at least twice a week for the past five weeks, Rick sat at a small square table next to the window at the front of the shop, a book he'd just bought in his lap and his laptop at the ready in case inspiration struck. This particular book was a good find, hidden away in a dusty corner and full of plot twists and quick dialogue. He couldn't wait to share it with Kate.

His first instinct was to tell her everything—Kate, Alexis taught me a new clapping game; Kate, I don't have writer's block anymore; Kate, do you remember that time when—but he was learning to control himself. Some of these things needed filtering, because they were exactly the kind of thing he would've said to her when he was eight. He was a different person now, and he'd worked hard to get here, so he couldn't allow himself to fall back on old habits.

"Hey, Rick, man," said Mark from the counter. "You know she's up in her office, right?"

"Did I say that out loud?"

"Something about clapping."

He groaned, but stood and stuffed the computer and book into his bag, thanked Mark, and made his way upstairs.

The office door stood open, so he went in and plopped himself in one of the chairs before her desk. She was scribbling over a document and didn't look up.

"Rick, what are you doing here?"

"I was reading this book from downstairs and I—"

She raised her head and quirked an eyebrow.

"Aw, come on. You're not still sore at me for Friday, are you? It is _not_ my fault that Ryan won that last hand. He got a lucky deal."

"It upsets the natural order of things when sweet little Ryan is better at poker than the rest of us. But no, that's not why I'm 'sore' at you. I'm 'sore' at you because this is the third time you've been in my office, distracting me from my work. Don't you have anything better to do?"

 _No_ , he wanted to say. _What could be better than talking to you?_ Instead he replied with a question. "What are you working on?"

Kate pushed her pen away and leaned back in her chair. She scrubbed both hands down her face and sighed.

"Rick, I'm sorry, but I really don't have time today. I have to edit this kid's witness statement because he barely finished middle school and the police are going to start suspecting him if he doesn't turn it in. I have two other cases waiting in the wings that I _need_ to take because the clients are rich and this place is going down. I have to catch up on the books because there's a shipment coming in next week and NYU is having a booksale in two weeks that I have to prepare for because they're one of my best sources. To top it off I haven't Traveled in almost four weeks and I'm starting to feel like I'm overdue for an inopportune mishap of time."

"So let me help! I could do a signing here!" Rick sat forward, eager.

"How does that help?"

"It gets people in the door, raises awareness for the store. You could offer some kind of promotion, you know, bring in an old book to be rebound at half price, get a New York celebrity's signature on the way out."

Kate looked like she was actually considering it, but then shook her head. "I don't think this place is big enough for something like that. You've got hundreds of adoring fans, right? Our capacity maxes out at seventy-five. Besides, what book would you be signing? The one you've already done three book tours for? The one you've been writing for two years?"

"Ouch, Beckett, that hurts," he grinned. "First off, I have _thousands_ of fans here in the city, and even though my book might not be finished yet it will be great. But I see your point, a signing might not work out. I know! You could let me help you with your cases."

"Fat chance."

"You let me help a few weeks ago," he said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

"I did no such thing," she said, completely serious.

The smile slid off his face. What? But, he knew, every conundrum of Kate Beckett could be solved by considering her existence in nonlinear time.

He watched her expression morph, and then she spun her chair around and began riffling through a filing cabinet behind her.

She pulled out a file and read it over, muttering, "Nice of me to _mention_ I had _help_."

"I guess that was a, uh, future you that let me ride along. But it wasn't anything dangerous! There was just some guy whose friends thought he was lost but he was drunk and somebody posted a picture of him on Facebook and we went to pick him up—"

"I know, Rick, I have the report I wrote right here. But she— _I_ don't mention you. When I read it after getting back, I figured she had just finished the case up for me. We do that sometimes. But why did I let you come with me?"

"I guess I have that to look forward to in the future then, huh?"

Kate groaned.

"Hey, Kate?" Mark called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah?" she yelled back.

"Ms. Boyle just called. Turns out her dog ate it and she no longer requires your services."

"Okay, thanks." She returned her voice to a normal volume and regarded him. "So sometime in the future I'm going to decide that it's a good idea to let you help me with private investigations."

"So it would seem. I do have five months' experience working with the NYPD's finest. They're your boys, they'll vouch for me."

She shook her head. "That's not what I'm worried about. Mostly. Rick, I majored in Criminal Justice at NYU. I trained at the Academy for six months. I was an officer for three and a half years, and a detective for almost a year. Before all that, I spent thirteen years learning how to survive and defend myself in unreal situations, thanks to my unpredictable disease.

"The point is, these cases, the way I investigate them, can get hairy. I know how to take care of myself, but I can't take care of you too. I can't even carry a gun anymore. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm touched, Kate," he said sincerely. "I'll think about what you've said, but I know I could be a great help to you. Ryan and Esposito tell me I'm useful. Well, mostly Ryan. I think he believes everything I say."

"That doesn't surprise me." She stretched her arms above her head and sneered at the document still laying on her blotter, dotted with corrective red marks. "Well, it looks like I have some free time after all since Ms. Boyle cancelled. Why don't you tell me about your book?"

"Which one? The one I was going to tell you about or the one I'm writing?"

"The one you're writing. What made you choose Ryan and Esposito? Why not McNulty?"

Rick took a moment to consider. How much should he reveal? "The book—"

" _Finite Laughter?_ " she interrupted. She must have seen the surprise on his face, because her face pinked and she explained, "It was leaked on your fansite."

"I wonder if Paula knows that. I'll have to ask—reporters aren't supposed to know that yet. But yes, that is the title right now." He paused and saw that she was still listening intently, even if she was still embarrassed at being caught out about the website. "In this book, I wanted to move away from the fast-paced thriller feel of Storm and focus more on the characters. What I really wanted to do was explore their relationships. The thin blue line is pretty famous, but I was curious about Ryan and Esposito's take on it. They seemed tighter than a lot of the other partners I've seen, and yet they hadn't known each other for very long. McNulty, he's a fine detective, but he held himself apart from the others. He didn't have that sense of brotherhood I was looking for. Plus he doesn't like me very much."

Kate smiled sympathetically. "McNulty doesn't like me very much either. Whenever I go in to work with Ryan and Espo, he says as few words as possible without blatantly giving me the silent treatment. I think maybe he just doesn't like civilians working his cases."

"I never thought of it that way."

"Let's just say I know the feeling. Not wanting civilians to work my cases, I mean."

"Oh, ha ha. Just for that I'll write your character out of the book."

"Wait, I'm in the book?"

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks, as always, for reading, and especially to those of you leaving reviews._

 _P.S. Still looking for a beta, I can be reached at this username on twitter, tumblr, and gmail_


End file.
